


Hollowed Out

by kronette



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Mental Abuse, Non Consensual, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rough Sex, Underage Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arnold Rimmer has just turned 16 years old. He's been kicked out of school and thrown out of his house. With no one to help him and no job, he uses the last of his money to get to Tvashtar Catena, a city 1100 kilometers from where he grew up on Io. It's considered the Mimas of Io, where those with special tastes go to get their itches scratched. Arnold doesn't know that, having been raised a proper, good boy. He only knows that Mr. Darby, Miss Faye and Mr. Williams and are the first people to be nice to him in his entire life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Found Your World is Made of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Overall Story Warnings: prostitution, underage sex, non-consensual, rape, physical and mental abuse, dubious consent, rough sex, explicit language, m/m, m/f. Arnold has just turned 16, which I'm declaring "legal age of consent" for the purpose of this story. I do not endorse anything that I've written about herein. This is a work of fiction and my twisted mind.
> 
> All chapter titles are from Gravity Kills lyrics, because a lot of their songs inspired this story.
> 
> For Chapter 1, there is no sex, but it has prostitution, explicit language and voyeurism. It sets up the story and is told from an original character's POV. There are no pairings for chapter 1, unless you count voyeurism, then Arnold/male.

Gregory casually leaned back in his chair as he intently watched the vid screen. The kid was _still_ eating. He'd been wolfing down food for a good hour, ever since Hank had pulled him in off the street.

He felt his lip curl in a smile as the lad's huge eyes looked up at Alice bringing another plate of food. Even without the sound feed on, Gregory could make out the mumbled, "Thank you," and the faint blush that colored the gaunt cheeks.

Well, well. Polite and shy, with an air of sadness and loss about him. In his business, that was a goldmine waiting to be tapped. How did Hank manage to find the untouched ones?

He chuckled to himself. Oh, he knew damn well how Hank enticed the lost and needy to their little establishment. It just amazed him that of all the vagrants and bums who lived on the street, Hank always managed to find the gems. Anyone could get a hungry and desperate kid off the street, but Hank had a flare for finding the diamonds-in-the-rough before anyone else did. Hired the local boys to rough them up and give 'em a good scare, then Hank would swoop in for the rescue. What desperate kid could refuse a hero, especially one so kind and helpful as Hank?

And then there was Alice, who nurtured them with food and motherly touches, tutting about the state of the world where children weren't safe on the streets. Speaking of which, it was about time. Gregory flicked on the sound to hear the kid's story. He hated being told second-hand, as something profound could be missed in an avoided gaze or slumped shoulders.

"…alone in Tvashtar Catena? Don't you have family you could stay with?" Alice asked with a gentle, worried tone. Smeg, she was amazing with the new ones.

The kid swallowed whatever he'd been chewing, wiped his mouth with the napkin – very telling, that – but was unable to meet her eyes. "Not – no, ma'am. My parents threw me out," he admitted with a voice that cracked on the last word.

"Threw you out?" Alice replied, her tone suitably horrified. "But you're barely what, 15?"

The lad looked crestfallen, his gangly arms ending in too-big hands that fiddled with the napkin. "Just turned sixteen, ma'am."

Gregory rocked up in his chair and grinned. He owed Hank a nice, fat bonus for finding this kid. Alice gave a glance to the hidden camera, obviously thinking the same thing. Untouched, shy _and_ legal? They had struck it rich.

Alice turned her gaze back to the lad, placing her hand over his nervously fluttering one. His face burned red and he looked about ready to have a heart attack. This just got better and better. Alice ignored the kid's discomfort and murmured, "But you seem like such a nice, young lad. Whatever could you have done to warrant your parents kicking you out?"

Tears filled those big green eyes and Gregory saw money signs float across his vision.

The kid's words rushed out of his mouth, almost too fast for Gregory to catch. "I failed my exams and Mummy locked the door and I'm out of money and no one will hire me and I can't go back to school and I can't go home and I don't know what to do." The kid's voice cracked with emotion as the tears slipped like rain down his hollowed cheeks. Gregory felt himself get hard watching the kid fall apart and rubbed himself through his pants.

The kid murmured something else, so low that the microphone almost didn't pick up his last confession: "Mummy said sh-she wished I wasn't b-born." Gregory let out a soft groan at the perfection that Hank had dropped on his doorstep. He owed Hank _big._

Alice draped her arm across the sobbing lad's shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "It's all right. I'll talk to Gregory about hiring you on here. I could use the help."

To Gregory's surprise, the kid pulled away and eyed her with suspicion, despite the tears still falling. "Why?" There was a world of distrust and wariness in that single word.

Well, well. The kid wasn't totally naïve even though he looked it. He'd learned not to trust anyone giving away things, especially jobs, for free. That could prove to be a hindrance or a blessing.

"My mum turned me out when I was 14," Alice lied smoothly. "I had nothing and knew no one. I cleaned floors in bars and strip clubs just so I could eat. I did whatever it took to stay off the streets. I'd seen what happened to those who couldn't get help. I don't want you to end up like them; dead or worse."

The kid's eyes had gotten bigger as Alice talked, but they were positively bugging out of his head at the last part. "What could be worse than being dead?" he asked, and there was that naiveté again. What a lovely, lovely contradiction this kid was turning out to be.

Alice patted his hand and Gregory caught the pinching around his eyes – he didn't like to be touched, or was afraid of physical contact. Another piece to the puzzle. "Never you mind, because I won't let it happen to you." She gave the kid her kindliest smile. "Now, Hank told me that some boys were attacking you. Did they hurt you? Do you need a doctor?"

The kid grew agitated at the word 'doctor' and quickly shook his head. "No, ma'am, no need for a doctor. They only got a few licks in before Mr. Darby showed up." The kid's voice dropped to a low murmur as he added, "I've had worse from my brothers."

The skittishness at the mention of 'doctor' was an intriguing mystery. Maybe something to do with the mother hating him so much – after all, no mother who told their kid they wished he'd never been born could claim to love him. There was potential for abuse there; Gregory would need to check hospital records to see if any admittances were left on the books.

The addition of brothers to the scenario brought the bigger picture into focus. Younger or youngest brother of a privileged family, not living up to expectations, an embarrassment to the family ousted to save face. The quickest way for the family to rid themselves of their problem was to send their son away, but tossing him to the streets was cheaper and a lot neater. No need to keep tabs on him, no need to worry about him ruining their reputation until the day the police showed up and asked them to identify the body, and that could be kept quiet with the right amount of money. Gregory was liking this scenario better and better. No hysterical parents looking for their lost lamb meant he would have a clean shot at keeping the kid indefinitely – or at least until he burned out.

"But what would you have done if Hank hadn't shown up?" Alice prodded gently, trying to get the kid to see the dangers for himself. A healthy dose of fear was usually needed at this stage, or else the kids figured they were safe now and wanted to brave the streets again. That was not an option for this kid.

The kid broke off a piece of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. "I've gotten good at running away," he shrugged. "Besides, I suspect the police would have intervened before too long."

Alice tutted and shook her head. "Honey, have you seen the police down here? You ever see them break up a fight or do anything that would ruin their pretty uniforms?" The kid swallowed what was left of the bread and his face paled. Satisfied she was getting through to him, Alice went in for the kill. "Down here, the law is what we make it. We enforce it and we protect our own. You would have been killed, most likely, if Hank hadn't found you."

The kid's eyes were flashing in green-brown turmoil. "But, why?" he asked, genuine confusion creasing his forehead. "I don't have any money."

Gregory rubbed the heel of his hand against his partial erection and groaned again. Smeg, he wanted to ruin that boy. Take that mix of innocence and wariness and flay it open until the kid was screaming.

He had to force himself to concentrate on the vid screen, where Alice was giving him her best pitying look. "Honey, they weren't going to kill you for what you had; they were going to kill you because they could. That's what the gangs do down here. Sometimes it's protecting their territory. Other times, they're just bored as smeg."

Truly scared now, the kid looked ready to pass out. His mouth opened a few times, but he couldn't speak. Alice took pity on him and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. "Enough of that talk. You're safe now, and I'll see about that job for you, yeah? By the way, honey, what's your name? I don't think you said."

The kid's tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Gregory felt that movement deep in his gut. "Arnold. Arnold Rimmer."

Gregory chuckled. Too bad he wasn't into porn distribution – with that name, the kid already had a hook, assuming he was taught to do it properly. He tuned out the rest as Alice did her usual song and dance about getting the kid set up in the storage room and talking to the boss about hiring him on.

Always one to cover his tracks and protect his merchandise, Gregory started a search to verify the kid's story. The kid's politeness, neatness and complete blindness to the world around him set Gregory to searching the public secondary schools on Io. A hit in the Io House records confirmed Arnold Rimmer's attendance and failure of his exams not three months prior, along with three other successful Rimmer graduates.

No records existed for an Arnold Rimmer in the hospitals, so either the admitting A&E nurse had been paid off, or they'd taken the kid to one of the clinics that didn't keep records. Smeg.

Frank, John and Howard, the kid's brothers, had plenty of news reports and vids about them, but locating his new charge was proving more difficult. Finally, a news vid of the family at John's graduation from flight school revealed a familiar face. Tucked as far back as propriety would allow, Arnold was in shadows behind his parents and older brothers, but there was no mistaking that face.

Gregory marveled at it. Here was a skinny kid with limbs to match, a nose that stuck out more than his ears, a mop of untamed hair…and yet there was _something_ about him. That unidentifiable something was going to net him a great deal of profit. He just had to pitch it in the correct way.


	2. Living in the Past, Feel Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arnold Rimmer has just turned 16 years old. He's been kicked out of school and thrown out of his house. With no one to help him and no job, he uses the last of his money to get to Tvashtar Catena, a city 1100 kilometers from where he grew up on Io. It's considered the Mimas of Io, where those with special tastes go to get their itches scratched. Arnold doesn't know that, having been raised a proper, good boy. He only knows that Mr. Darby, Miss Faye and Mr. Williams and are the first people to be nice to him in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Chapter 2, the warnings are for masturbation, physical abuse, mental abuse and emotional abuse and I suppose I should add bullying. Arnold remembers the events that led him to wind up at Tvashtar Catena.

Arnold Rimmer knew his family history better than any subject in school. His great-great-great-grandfather, Artemis Rimmer, had brought his family to Io over 150 years ago. The Rimmers enjoyed moderate successes, climbing ever upward on the political influential meter until the stumbling block of Arnold's father, David. Kept out of the Space Corps for being an inch below regulation height, Arnold's father had obsessed that every child of his would get into the Space Corps. That obsession led to quizzes on astro navigation and engineering at meals from the time his boys could speak. Your plate was taken away for incorrect answers and your bedroom door bolted from the outside until you were able to answer correctly. John and Frank were naturally inclined to engineering, easily deflecting their father's rapid-fire questions. Howard struggled with the complicated math, but his older brothers helped him revise and therefore kept him moderately fed.

Arnold, by contrast, had been nearly starved on four separate occasions. He couldn't help it if he wasn't as smart as his brothers. He didn't understand engineering or math or astro navigation – it jumbled up in his head until it was just a blur of numbers. John and Frank never offered to help him. They didn’t even sneak him any food or unlock his door so he could sneak his own. Howard spared him a pitying glance now and then at the supper table, but he had his own stomach to look out for. Arnold's only relief from his imprisonment would come from Io House calling up and demanding he return to classes or else be marked truant. Even that wouldn't have been enough for his father to let Arnold out of his room, but truancy was a crime for parents as well as the student.

The stretching rack, by comparison, was a relaxing holiday for young Arnold.

He didn't have anyone looking out for him, from his parents, to his brothers, to his teachers. He wasn't good at sports or school and he wasn't liked by his classmates. He'd been bullied since primary school, losing money, shoes and books to boys and girls bigger than him. No one believed his complaints when he tried to report what happened, and the retaliations from his attempts were worse than the original cruelty, so he'd stopped. By the age of eight, he'd learned not to trust anyone. Classmates didn't call his name to greet him; they called his name to smear something disgusting on his uniform, or trip him, or play a practical joke.

As he moved up to secondary school, the deception to get his attention grew more intricate. If he heard his name being called, he'd duck his head and avoid that person, only to run into someone else – which had been the plan all along. Then he'd be shoved into a locker or pushed to the ground so his uniform would get stained with grass and mud. On the rare good days, he was ignored. On the not-so-good days, he got away with stolen homework or being laughed at as he sprawled flat on his face. On the bad days, he was dunked into the raw sewage tank, smeared with honey and staked out on the cricket pitch, or his face held in the toilet bowl until his lungs filled with water and a nurse was called to revive him. The last was, remarkably, the nicest thing ever done to him, as he'd been dead and beyond the horrors inflicted on him.

As serene as death had been, he was too much a coward to ever contemplate making a return trip. He fainted at the sight, smell or thought of blood. He nearly fainted when anyone spoke directly to him – his parents included, though that had more to do with malnutrition than fear.

Fainting would be an improvement over the internal turmoil his body underwent whenever a girl looked at him. It didn't happen often, as Io House was boys-only, but Io House and Dearling House let out around the same time for weekends at home, so students would meet up at the shuttle terminals that would take them to the residential areas.

The flirting, jockeying, laughing and ease at which the other boys and girls interacted left Arnold feeling like he was standing behind a glass wall, able to see but not participate. His stomach pitched and rolled as he watched girls flutter their eyelashes, toy with their hair and lean in to whisper in boys' ears. He wished he could feel their breath on his cheek, hear the low tones of their whispers, smell their perfume or shampoo. His wistful gazes deflected to the ground when the kissing started. Watching them snog made his insides all funny, and he about hyperventilated when the more adventurous boys went so far as to stick their hands up or down girls' uniforms.

His blushing and stammering whenever a girl looked at him didn't really factor into his inability to ask her out. Mummy forbade him to speak to girls until his grades improved – and they'd been going in the opposite direction for the past five terms. But Mummy hadn't said anything about _boys_ , so he spent more time watching them at the shuttle terminal than the girls. It gave him an illicit thrill at doing something his mother would punish him for if she'd thought of it first.

He was very, very careful about the boys he watched, because the retaliation would be swift and painful if anyone from Io House caught him staring. He was lucky they let him breathe the same air they did without charging him credits. He'd casually look down the road for the shuttle, darting his gaze to the side to catch Idris Fletcher laughing at something said by Laurence Tatnor, the cricket player. Or sometimes he'd get lucky and just happen to be looking in the right direction as Stuart Mockel bent down to press a loving kiss to his girlfriend's lips.

Then there was Horace "Ace" Sheppard, a forward on the Ionian hockey team. Arnold didn't dare try to watch him for very long, because Ace was big enough to easily snap him in two if Ace so much as breathed on his skinny frame. He didn't think of any other boy as gorgeous, but the term was surely invented so that it could be applied to Ace: light brown, wavy hair, laughing gray-green eyes, broad shoulders and chest, and an arse that filled out his uniform like no other. Not even as tall as Arnold's brothers, Ace had a presence about him that made him seem taller. He was friendly, outgoing, smart and of course athletic. The rare times Arnold was allowed to attend a game, he would drink his fill of Ace's muscled body beneath the shirt and shorts as he jostled for position on the pitch.

Arnold knew he had less a chance with Ace than he did with any girl on Io. He was unmemorable, fading into the background like so much shadow – and he preferred it that way. It was better than being in the spotlight where unspeakable tortures could be done to him. It didn't stop his heart from speeding up whenever Ace strode confidently into the classroom, or his imagination from running wild with snogging scenarios. His brain seemed to melt down if he tried to think beyond the press of their mouths, but he wanted to know what it would be like to have someone caress his arse like he'd seen Ace do to Skippy Baumgartner, a midfielder and his latest boyfriend.

Arnold let out a shuddered breath as he came in his hands, hating himself even as his body sang with pleasure. It would be something to remember Ace's hand on his erection, stroking him to completion while kissing him. But he couldn't, because nothing like it had ever happened – it was just a fantasy.

He stared up at the storage room ceiling and felt tears prick his eyes as the last of his orgasm faded. For smeg's sake, he was sixteen years old and still had to imagine what it was like to kiss someone. He'd only ever been kissed by his Uncle Frank mistaking him for his mother, and he'd been asleep at the time so he couldn't even _pretend_. He should _know_ what it was like to have his hands up a girl's shirt or down a boy's trousers. He should _know_ what it felt like to be touched by someone else's hand. But, he'd never even gotten a love note. Never been asked to dance. Never been anything.

Disgusted with himself for indulging in his fantasies, he carefully got off the cot and elbowed on the faucet to scrub his hands. The water was always cold, intended to wash vegetables, not wash away the evidence of uncontrollable teenage hormones. He knew better than to fantasize about Ace, or Fiona, or his brother's fiancée Janine, but he was bored and so smegging _lonely_. He may be living in a boarding house, but he only ever saw Miss Faye, Mr. Williams or Mr. Darby. He'd heard other people, but they never came into the kitchen and he was only allowed in the kitchen, storage room and delivery dock. He didn't dare ask for vids to watch or books to read, feeling that would be pushing his luck. Miss Faye had been kind enough to take him in after Mr. Darby had saved him from the street gang. Before that, he'd been alone for months, ever since…

He hissed as cold water trickled down his stomach, distracting him from that line of thought. He washed himself down as best he could, then checked the borrowed pajama shirt of Mr. Williams for wet spots. The bottoms and his underwear were safely at the end of his bed, tangled in the sheets that he'd shoved down his legs earlier. With only one set of clothes and sleeping in borrowed pajamas, he was very careful to keep them clean. He'd learned after the first week on his own that clothes didn't wash themselves, and it cost money to have anything done.

Satisfied he'd gotten all the cum off his stomach and had missed his shirt this time, he located his underwear and pajama bottoms and slipped them back on, then tucked himself into bed, hating the quiet. There were no sounds in the storage room. Not even clacking pipes or scurrying rodents, though he'd heard his share over the past few weeks. The stillness pressed at him, so unlike the forced politeness he'd grown up with. His vision blurred in a familiar fashion and he wiped angrily at his tears.

He should be grateful for what he had –he _was_ grateful – but he couldn't help it. He was barely sixteen, kicked out of his home and school, left to fend for himself for months until he ended up in Tvashtar Catena. He should have heeded the words he'd heard somewhere – be careful what you wish for.

He'd hated his life. He'd hated his classmates and teachers. He'd hated his brothers. With no one and nothing to look forward to at school, and John and Frank just as bad at home, he'd retreated into his head. He'd spent his time daydreaming of a better place, far away from Io. He'd seen vids of Earth and thought the murky green-blue water gave the planet a pretty glow. Venus would have been nice, too, with its violent skies changing constantly. Even Pluto, rocky abyss that it was, had been more appealing than his life at Io House.

He wished now, with all his heart, that he'd studied harder. Tried harder to be liked. Done _anything_ differently, if it would have stopped him from learning to hate his mother. He rolled to his side and caught his blotchy, red-faced reflection in the mirror. He really was pathetic, just as his mother said. His stomach twisted in knots as he remembered the exact moment his life went to shit.

He'd handed his mother the letter from Io House before running upstairs to change out of his uniform. He'd brought home so many letters, he hadn't realized that particular one would change his life forever. When he'd come back downstairs, his mother had been staring at the crisp parchment that shook in her hands. At first he'd thought she was crying, but then she'd looked up. Her face had been purple with rage, more upset than he'd ever seen her – and that included the time he'd come home without his blazer and tie with the explanation that Stinky Tubberman had set fire to them.

When she'd told him what the letter said, he'd felt the room – and his life – spin out of control: _You're done with Io House. You failed every subject on your exams. Only a screw-up like you could fail every subject. You've destroyed your chance to get into the Space Corps. This will kill your father_. _All he ever wanted was for his boys to make something of themselves. All you've made is a fool of yourself and this family._

He'd stood meekly as she railed at him, unable to defend himself because he'd known that he'd been doing poorly in school. But had he really been so thick as to fail every subject – even history, which he'd liked? Heated embarrassment had crept up his neck and he'd wished she would just exile him to his room in punishment, but she hadn't been done with her tirade.

_Have you ever done anything in your life that your father or I didn't have to help you with? You couldn't even tie your shoes until you were eight. I had to whore myself to keep you from being held back to Junior C, then there were the endless meetings with the Headmaster. Well, no more. I won't be held responsible for you any longer. Get out._

She'd yelled at him for most of his life. She'd enforced strict punishments whether he deserved them or not. She'd never, ever spoken to him in such a calm voice as she had with her last words. There had been a finality to them, a distance that had frightened him. His eyes had burned with unshed tears as he'd whispered in disbelief, "Mummy?"

Her cold, harsh glare had reached deep into his heart and squeezed it tight as she'd mocked him: _Mummy, Mummy, Mummy. Cry for your mum, that's all you know how to do, isn't it, you simpering gimboid? Get out of my house. I never want to see your ungrateful, pathetic face again, do you hear me? Get out!_

He had been unable to stop from crying then, though he couldn't make himself move. "Mummy, please," he'd dared to utter, but a quick snap of her wrist had left him holding his smarting cheek where she'd slapped him.

If he'd been shocked by her physical abuse, he didn't know a word for the numbness that stole the breath from him as she'd quietly seethed: _You've ruined my life, Arnold Judas Rimmer. I'd wish I'd never had you._

Too numb to think, Arnold had slowly turned and headed toward the front door with his hand still pressed to his cheek. Once he'd crossed the threshold, he'd dared to turn around, in time to see the door being slammed in his face. The lock being engaged echoed in his memory and he buried his head in the thin pillow, trying to drown out the rest, but it was a tireless loop in his head, always taunting him.

Father had been in the drawing room while Mummy had thrown him out, and hadn't said a word. Arnold had seen his father's face in the window as he turned away from the closed door. It had been cold, closed off and his father's eyes had looked straight through him as if he weren't even there. He'd read history lessons of children being disowned by their parents, but hadn't thought it could happen in this day and age.

He'd spent a terrifying few hours sitting in the community park, unable to think, barely able to breathe. He was numb, inside and out. The true horror of his situation had gradually washed over him: he'd had to leave behind his clothes, his drawings, his books and his toy soldiers. He couldn't expect his brothers to help him get his things and he had no friends to turn to. He could have gone to Uncle Frank's, but the thought of staying there made his stomach sour. Worst of all, he had no money.

That thought had spurred him to action. He'd gone to the bank and took out what money he had, and lived on that for awhile. He'd applied for different jobs, but without a degree, work certification or any sort of work experience, no one wanted to hire him. Finally, with barely any money left, the last manager he'd spoken with told him to try at Tvashtar Catena.

It hadn't been Venus, Earth or even Pluto, but the smaller city eleven hundred kilometers southwest of the only home he'd known had gotten him away from his despised life. As his money had run out, he'd begged for work. He'd gotten a few jobs sweeping up late at night, when the owners wouldn't get asked for his work papers, but none had lasted more than one night. Finally, he'd ended up curled in a doorway, eating the protein bar he'd bought with the last of his money. Two days later, the street gang had found him.

As they'd hauled him to his feet and turned out his pockets looking for money, he'd heard his mother's words echoing in his head and wished he hadn't been born, too.

Arnold buried his head further into his pillow, trying to stifle his deep, stomach-clenching sobs. For the 108th night in a row, his crying exhausted him to the point of unconsciousness.

 end of chapter 2


	3. Imagine You in the White Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Gregory to see how much young Arnold is worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapter titles are from Gravity Kills lyrics, because a lot of their songs inspired this story.
> 
> For Chapter 3, the warnings are for prostitution and explicit language.

Alice kept the kid in the back of the house, away from the actual business of their business and gave him odd jobs to keep busy. Arnold kept the stockroom full and orderly, he helped Alice with the cooking and he did the washing up. Gregory made sure the only people he saw were Alice, Hank and himself, though the kid was aware that other people lived in the "boarding house." However naïve, though, Arnold wasn't stupid. He had to be painfully aware that he wasn't allowed to speak to anyone and had to wonder why. Gregory had caught the wistful looks that would cross Arnold's face when he was left alone too long. The kid was lonely and curious, but the longer they'd maintained Arnold's innocence about where he was and what would happen to him, the sweeter the reward would be. 

It had taken Gregory almost three weeks to set up the right clientele base, because he had to vet them to ensure they had enough money and they wouldn't damage the merchandise. As much as he wanted to spoil the boy himself, he couldn't pass on the monetary value of such a perfect, once-in-a-lifetime combination.

The tricky part had been the auction. How could he showcase the kid's qualities while keeping him ignorant of what was going on? He'd been watching Arnold on the vid screen, as he did every chance he got, when inspiration struck. That wistful expression returned as several girls' voices piped through the speakers as they walked up the stairs by the kitchen. He would throw one of the girls at the kid and let his clients watch the event live. 

Alice had fussed at the kid earlier that day about his too-long hair, so Hank had given him a quick trim – all on Gregory's orders. The untamed curls were now at least in a semblance of order, not too unruly but still full enough to really wrap your hands in to guide his head. Arnold's clothes were clean, if not the boring teenager fare of sweater and jeans. He'd actually pushed his sleeves halfway up his arms – one of the rare times Gregory had seen him do it – as he gathered the ingredients for the lunchtime stew. 

When all of the clients had arrived and been shown their seats, Gregory stood before the wall screen to block the live feed. "Ladies and gentlemen, Arnold has been with us for just a few weeks. He's sixteen, raised by a well-off family, educated and a virgin." That last morsel brought murmurs of interest, he was pleased to note. "To preserve that innocence, I'm going to send in Ashley to proposition him." He held up his hands at the protests that followed. "She's not allowed to touch him. If he tries anything, she's to get my handler who will restrain him until such time as a sale is confirmed. The winner of this auction will have first dibs at – everything. I'll remind you this is strictly cash only – half upfront and the rest when you're done." 

One of his male clients, noted for his younger appetite, called out, "How can you confirm he's a virgin? It's impossible to tell with males." 

Gregory smiled as he had absolute, perfect faith in the kid. "Trust me." He stepped away from the screen and let his gaze wander over his clients, watching them watch Arnold. 

Arnold was hard at work chopping vegetables, so he startled when the knock came at the kitchen door. "Yes?" he called, taking a hesitant step toward the door. 

Ashley wasted no time in opening the door and poking her dark head through. "Alice in here?" she asked, then raked her gaze over Arnold's body. "You're new," she said with an enticing grin. 

Arnold flushed, just as Gregory thought he would, and stammered, "Y-yes. I'm Arnold. Miss Faye got me a job here." 

Ashley entered the kitchen and walked over to where Arnold was standing, his left leg jittering nervously. "Did she, now? Why's she kept you all for herself, do you think?" she asked in a playful voice. 

Arnold's eyes widened predictably, and Gregory couldn't have written a better film script if he tried. "She's not!" he squeaked, his voice breaking in the middle. "I'm just – I'm Arnold," he repeated and took a step away from her. 

"You said that already," Ashley reminded him with a dramatic coquettish look that would never have worked on anyone with any experience. Arnold went from blushing to pale as a ghost, sweat trickling down his temple. "I'm Ashley, by the way." She closed the gap between them and Gregory's hands tightened into fists. He warned the girl not to touch the kid. If she disobeyed him…

"Nice to m-meet you," Arnold stammered out, despite looking ready to faint dead away. 

Ashley trailed a finger between her half-exposed breasts, which Arnold's green eyes tracked like an expert hunter. "Do you want to kiss me, Arnold?" she purred, leaning forward slightly to show off her cleavage. 

Even through the vid screen, Gregory could see the kid's pulse racing out of control, his chest moving with quick, shallow breaths. Then Arnold licked his lips and it was all Gregory could do not to groan aloud. It was the unexpected sensuality of it, coming from such a lanky and unassuming boy. Arnold's head jerked once, then he nodded in rapid succession, so much that Gregory expected his head to fall off and roll away. Ashley started to lean in toward Arnold, and Gregory's eyes narrowed as he watched her, wondering what she was playing at. 

Arnold squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips in a comical way, making it painfully obvious that he'd never been kissed before, at least not passionately. Ashley stepped away from the kid and let out a tinkling laugh. She waited until Arnold's eyes were open and filled with confusion before raking her gaze over his body again. This time at her frank assessment, Arnold ducked his head, but not before Gregory saw the dark red burnish to his cheeks. "I'm not that easy, you twonk. If you want to kiss me, you have to work up to it." She flounced out the door, leaving Arnold standing still as a statue with his head down. 

Bewildered, Gregory watched as Arnold began pushing down his sleeves to cover his wrists. What on Io was the kid doing? He'd just been rejected by a girl; shouldn't he be running after her? Throwing a tantrum at being teased and left hanging? Instead, he watched in amazement as Arnold finished righting his clothes, then wiped his sleeve across his eyes. As he resumed his vegetable preparation at the cutting board, Gregory could see the tear-tracks that marred his cheeks. 

Gregory felt that applause was warranted, but he quickly schooled his features into his best no-nonsense business expression. As he predicted, his clients couldn't resist Arnold's charming blushes or nervous stutter. Some were squirming in their seats, awaiting relief from the nearly chaste display they'd just witnessed. 

"The bidding starts at 1,000 dollarpounds, advancing in increments of 50," he announced to the crowd. He didn't expect much shock at that high a price, and he didn't get it. Clients were falling over themselves to get first crack at such an unblemished specimen. 

The numbers climbed higher until a voice from the back of the room called out, "Thirty." 

Gregory frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but the bidding is by increments of 50 only, and we're up to 8,250. Do you bid 8,300?" 

"I don't." The man stood up and elaborated, quietly, "I bid thirty thousand dollarpounds." 

The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at the man. Gregory tried to recall his name, but couldn't place him. "You have that kind of money on you?" he demanded. "You know this is cash only." If this was some kind of trick or a sting, he was going to be very, very upset. 

The well-dressed man held up a brown briefcase. His voice held a tinge of eagerness as he asked, "He'll struggle, won't he?" 

A sick feeling of dread curled in Gregory's gut. He'd vetted every client personally, so no one should have been let in who had more exotic tastes, but that was not a pleasant question. "I can't guarantee that, sir," he explained while his brain tried frantically to remember who the smeg the guy was. Not Hornsby, not Angfrel, too tall for the one who liked watersports...McGillis, the young upstart with the JMC. Mostly harmless, though he did like it a bit rough now and then. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Maybe a firm hand would be best for the kid's first time. He'd learn right off what was allowed and what wasn't, which would mean less work for Hank and himself in the long run. 

Torn between 30,000 dollarpounds and the possibility, no matter how small, that McGillis would ruin Arnold for other male clients, he added, "I'll offer no refunds if he's meek or unresponsive. You take your chances with virgin merchandise."

That seemed to sour McGillis somewhat, but he remained standing. 

"Does your 30,000 dollarpound bid stand?" Gregory pushed, wanting to end the suspense. He still had his eye on the last bidder, a woman who liked roleplaying games. 

McGillis nodded. 

Committed now, Gregory swept his gaze across the other clients, but he could see they were priced out of the competition. "Are there any other bids?" he asked, more out of formality than any hope. Still, 30,000 dollarpounds was an unheard of sum for anyone in this business. It could buy him happiness if it all went to shit. "Sold to the gentlemen for 30,000 dollarpounds." 

McGillis sat back down, smug satisfaction visible even to Gregory at the front of the room. He promptly forgot about McGillis as he addressed his other clients. "Ladies, since you were denied deflowering our young lad, I'll open the bidding at 500 dollarpounds for the chance to be the first woman he gets his prick into." The bidding wasn't nearly as frenzied, but still far above respectable at 4,450 for the winner. 

After that excitement wore down, Gregory turned to his computer and set appointments for the remaining clients who still wanted a go at the kid for the standard 200 dollarpounds an hour. He wasn't a tyrant; he left Arnold enough nights off between clients that he wouldn't get fucked out, but he kept it steady enough so that Arnold learned his place quickly. 

Now all that was left was telling Arnold. 

Gregory was saved even that trouble as McGillis requested that the kid not be told; merely sent up to McGillis' room and them to be left alone for the full 20 hours. Since McGillis was the paying client, Gregory didn't argue, other than to state, "The boy really has no clue what we do here. He's naïve enough to not get it at first." 

McGillis narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he handed Gregory his requisite medical exam. "I know you're trusting me with a highly valued prize, Mr. Williams. I promise not to thoroughly break him." 

Gregory took the data chip without much thought – he vetted his clients very carefully – and managed a tight smile. "I would appreciate that, sir. I'll send him to your room in an at 8." 

McGillis left and Gregory ran his hands over the stacks of money McGillis had left on his desk, wondering if he could physically fuck 15,000 dollarpounds.


	4. The Less That I Can See the More That You Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the big one, folks. Arnold learns his place and earns his keep. 
> 
> All warnings apply: forced prostitution, underage sex, non-consensual, rape, physical abuse, mental abuse, psychological trauma, dubious consent, rough sex, explicit language, m/m, first time

Arnold took the steps two at a time, beaming with pride that he'd finally earned Miss Faye's trust to start taking orders from guests. Three smegging weeks of the same three smegging rooms had nearly driven him barmy. Just being in the stairwell was enough to lift his sprits.

The fussing about his hair had seemed strange earlier that day, but it made sense now. Miss Faye had wanted him to look his best when he met guests for the first time. It was a little odd that she'd chosen the same day that he'd met someone new, but maybe Ashley had been the final test. He'd been a gentlemen as much as he knew how, even if Ashley had been meaner to him than every other girl who'd ever spoken to him. Back at school, the girls didn't offer to kiss him, even for fun at his expense.

He paused on the fourth level and swallowed thickly as his body remembered Ashley leaning closer, her voice sending tingles down his spine to other parts of him that tingled even more. Smeg, her breasts had all but fallen out of her top, right in front of him! And the way she'd looked at him…he could feel heat on his face even as blood rushed toward his groin. Why couldn't he stop blushing? It was embarrassing, which made his cheeks redder and made him look like a cooked lobster.

If Ashley were part of his test, it explained why Miss Faye ignored his questions about her. When he'd asked, Miss Faye had ordered him up to Mr. McGillis' room to see if he needed anything for supper. Arnold hadn't even known how many floors were in the boarding house, so that was at least more than he knew yesterday. At his pestering questions, Miss Faye had shouted at him, "Seven, now get your arse up to 608!"

He resumed his trek back up the stairs absently, worry gnawing at his stomach as he recalled Miss Faye's annoyed look. She didn't often get upset, but when she did, she got loud and yelled at everyone. It didn't suit her and made him feel out of sorts. He didn't want to do anything to make her mad at him or to jeopardize his acceptance at the boarding house.

He stopped on the landing for the sixth floor and opened the stairwell door. The hallway was quiet, so as not to disturb any guests, he crept down the hallway to 608. He hesitated before rapping lightly on the door – he was never comfortable talking to strangers, but he had to, if he was going to prove that Miss Faye's trust in him was well-placed.

"Come in," called a voice from inside.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open. "Mr. McGillis? Miss Faye said I should check if you wanted anything for supper," he called as he stepped into the room. He swept his gaze over the room quickly, eager to see what the boarding house looked like. It was slightly disappointing – beige walls, some thick black drapes, a mini bar to the right of the door and a strange apparatus that looked like his father's stretching rack near to the wooden four poster bed. Seeing it caused an involuntary shiver. A trunk at the foot of the bed rested on the only bright spot of color, the red rug shot through with gold in one of those old-fashioned swirly patterns. A vid screen was on the same wall as another door that led to the toilet.

His gaze finally landed on Mr. McGillis at the small table by the door, where a briefcase rested amid papers strewn out across the surface. Had he interrupted the man's work? Mr. McGillis was watching him, an intense look that had him shifting uncomfortably on his feet. That look made him feel hot, like he'd felt with Ashley that afternoon. "Am I disturbing you, Mr. McGillis?" he questioned, afraid he'd messed up again.

"You haven't disturbed me," said the man as he put down the papers he'd been holding and smiled up at him. "And call me Thomas, please."

It was drilled into his head to always call adults by their surnames, so he fidgeted uncomfortably again and wondered what to do. "Miss Faye sent me to see if you'd like something for supper. Sir," he tacked on, proud he'd gotten around the first name problem. He couldn't figure out the odd look that crossed Mr. McGillis' face, but it vanished before he could think on it more, to be replaced with a grin that lit up the man's face.

"What's your name?" Mr. McGillis asked as he indicated the seat across from him with a waved hand.

He stared at the chair in mild panic. Mr. McGillis wanted him to sit down? Arnold's gaze went everywhere but at the other man – he was terrible at small talk and hated the thought of coming up with something witty to say. Most of the time, he settled for not making an arse of himself. But, if he was going to interact with the guests, it was something he was going to have to get used to. Besides, Mr. McGillis had only asked his name. One step at a time. Taking a steadying breath, he muttered, "Arnold, sir," as he ducked his head, feeling heat on his cheeks. Smeg it all, why did he have to do that?

He didn’t think Mr. McGillis saw his embarrassment, as his voice was pleasant as he said, "Arnold, come and sit. I'd like to talk, if it's alright with you. I get lonely on my travels and I miss talking to someone."

He flicked his gaze up at Mr. McGillis, noting that his eyes were a very dark blue, like Earth's oceans after the clean-up had begun. His brown-blond hair hung loose to his shoulders, and the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing well-tanned, toned arms. Arnold's stomach did a slow turn that settled into the tingly warmth he got when he watched Idris Fletcher smile. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he wanted to flee the room, but something in Mr. McGillis' gaze held him there. It took him a moment to place the look – kindness. He'd seen so little of it in his life that this small gesture shook him to his core.

Mr. McGillis said nothing, just indicated the chair again with a slight nod. Arnold gnawed on his lower lip and cursed his own stupidity. Mr. McGillis was older than him, somewhere in his mid-20s. What would an older man want with a pathetic never-been-kissed boy like him? It was laughable. That drained his embarrassment and his attraction, leaving him strangely bereft.

"All right," he agreed, though a bit hesitantly, as he sat in the chair opposite Mr. McGillis. His left leg started jiggling as he felt that stare on him again. He never liked being the focus of attention. It inevitably ended up in some horror for him.

"My work with JMC takes me all over the solar system," the other man began. "Do you know what JMC is?"

He may be thick, but he knew who the second largest employer in the solar system was. "Jupiter Mining Corporation, sir," he answered promptly. Mr. McGillis smiled again, and that tingling, warm sensation returned to Arnold's chest.

"I designed the hydrogen conversion engine that's used on the big intrasystem ships." Mr. McGillis' arms spread wide, stretching the neat lines of his shirt tight against his chest. Arnold felt his heart thump faster and his skin tingled. "You see, the galaxy has virtually unlimited amounts of hydrogen floating around in space. With my engine design, a scoop at the nose of the ship works like an electromagnetic ramjet, funneling hydrogen into the engine chamber."

Arnold became more enraptured as Mr. McGillis grew more excited as he talked, demonstrating with his hands each process. "The engine's forward motion compresses the incoming air – _without_ the use of a rotary compressor, mind – into a smaller and smaller magnetic field until thermonuclear fusion occurs, propelling the ship forward on the reverse thrust of the exhaust port."

Arnold followed his hand movements, seeing where the air came into the scoop at the front of the ship, watched it being compressed down through the smaller pipes until it caused the explosion, then shot out the back. It was the clearest he'd ever seen anything to do with engines or engineering. Not in years at Io House, not in the hundreds hours of revision in fear of no supper, had he ever understood something so quickly and so completely.

"I get it," he breathed, unable to believe he'd finally understood something that had eluded him for years. He smiled up at Mr. McGillis. "I get it!"

Mr. McGillis laughed and a bright spot flared in Arnold's chest. "I take it you've struggled with engineering principles?" he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

He nodded, for once not embarrassed at not knowing something. "Why couldn't you have been one of my teachers?" he lamented. "I would have learned that years ago."

"Oh, I doubt that," Mr. McGillis demurred, though his smile remained. "I’m just passionate about my work. My enthusiasm carries over to others, who get caught up in my passion. Haven't you ever gotten caught up in passion, Arnold?"

He swallowed thickly as his stomach pitched and rolled with a familiar feeling. "N-no," he admitted, growing wary as Mr. McGillis' eyes darkened. He leaned back out of fear-born reflex, but Mr. McGillis settled back in his chair, studying him thoughtfully. The change in position didn't relax Arnold any. Something unsettling was thickening the air in the room, and his body tensed like a frayed wire about to snap.

"Haven't you had a girlfriend?" Mr. McGillis asked with an odd note in his voice.

The abrupt question startled him badly and heat burnished his cheeks yet again. He barely managed to shake his head in the negative. Why would Mr. McGillis care about that?

Mr. McGillis' eyes gleamed. "Boyfriend, then?"

Another violent shake of his head and Arnold started to hyperventilate. Why was Mr. McGillis asking these questions? Had Arnold's earlier attraction shown on his face somehow? Was he going to tell Miss Faye? Smeg, was he going to be kicked out of the boarding house, too?

"I see," Mr. McGillis mused quietly, fixing him with his dark blue gaze.

He wasn’t sure what it was Mr. McGillis saw, but it didn't help the tension that was choking him. He knew what he saw when he looked in the mirror: a pathetic, sad gimboid who had no friends, no home and no plan for his future. He shouldn't have stayed. He should have just gotten Mr. McGillis' supper order and left straight away. Before he could figure a way to politely stand up and leave, the other man spoke.

"You're an attractive young man," he stated, his tone indicating that Arnold should have already been aware of that fact.

Arnold knew no such thing and felt heat sweep his entire body at Mr. McGillis' frank gaze. If he got any more embarrassed, his face would either burst into flame or he'd melt into the rug. His stomach churned into more elaborate knots and the tension was making him lightheaded. "I – I should go," he stammered, pushing himself out of the chair. "Miss Faye…"

He watched with fearful, wide eyes as Mr. McGillis pushed his chair back and stood up, causing him to back up toward the door.

"I've spoken to Miss Faye," Mr. McGillis informed him calmly as he walked around the table toward him. "She won't be expecting you back until tomorrow."

Arnold crowded against the door as Mr. McGillis stood in front of him, his knees almost knocking together as fear or flight flooded his system. His left hand scrabbled for the door knob, but it wouldn’t turn. "What? Why?" he asked shakily. Why couldn't he get the smegging door open?

Mr. McGillis leaned forward and Arnold flinched, expecting to be spat at or worse. He jumped as he felt a hand close over his and unclench it from the door knob. "Tch, such a skittish thing," Mr. McGillis murmured as he brought Arnold's hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his fist.

"Ah-w-what are you doing?" he asked faintly, his heart thudding in his throat and sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Mr. McGillis' expression was a mix of anticipation and arousal, and it shot terror down Arnold's spine. "Please," he begged, not sure what he was begging for. To be allowed to leave? For the gnarled tension in his belly to end? For something to just _happen_ already?

Something happened, but it was nothing Arnold had been ready for. Mr. McGillis swept down and pressed his lips against Arnold's in a kiss. Arnold had no time to think, no time to overanalyze, no time to protest. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed back, feeling the pressure change as Mr. – as Thomas tilted his head and angled his lips better against Arnold's. He was being kissed and it was smegging incredible. The scent of Thomas' soap and aftershave teased his senses and he filled his lungs with it.

The welcome pressure let up and Arnold felt a whimper rise in his throat at the anticipated loss, but then Thomas licked across his bottom lip. Arnold gasped at the sensation, opening his mouth just enough so that Thomas could swipe his tongue between his lips, curl around the back of his teeth and brush against his tongue.

It was, singularly and without question, the best moment of his life. The jolt of pleasure that went straight to his penis was a hundred times more powerful than what he'd felt when he'd watched Ace kiss Skippy. This put his imagination to shame. This was _bloody fantastic_. He leaned forward eagerly as Thomas pressed deeper into his mouth, teasing flicks of his tongue encouraging Arnold's to follow it, drawing him into Thomas' own mouth where he mimicked what had been done to him. The give and take of their slick tongues and wet lips made obscene noises that seemed to urge Thomas on.

Arnold was so intensely focused on what his mouth was doing, that he'd forgotten he had an entire body that could be participating. He barely felt Thomas' hand around his left wrist pressed against the door near his head. But he couldn't ignore the tug to his hair as Thomas dug his hand in and yanked his head back, forcing his mouth wider open. Tears sprang to his eyes at the sharp sting on his scalp and he shoved weakly at Thomas' chest with his free hand, trying to get him to relent. He was breathing harshly, unable to get a decent lungful of air as Thomas ignored his protest and tightened his grip in Arnold's hair.

Arnold cried out as his hair was wrenched backward and down, forcing him to bend his knees to relieve the pressure. Tears leaked from his eyes as he shoved at Thomas' shoulder, but the man was immovable. He yanked on his trapped wrist, but Thomas merely pushed it harder into the wooden door until he felt his bones squeak. He finally twisted his head enough to get Thomas to release his mouth and gasped, "Stop it; you're hurting me. Let me go!" Avoiding Thomas' mouth, he dug his fingers into Thomas' shirt and pushed, which did nothing to relieve the twin pressures on his body. So he pulled Thomas toward him.

The effect was immediate and staggering. All the breath left his lungs in one go as he felt the length of Thomas' erection pressing against his stomach. His eyes widened at the realization that _he'd caused that_. He, Arnold Rimmer, had given another man an erection.

Until the age of twelve, his hands had been laced into boxing gloves at night with a strict warning not to remove them. He hadn’t understood when he was younger, but around age eleven, his body started to change. He would wake up with a dull ache in his groin, roll off of his stomach and stare at his half-hard penis curiously. The first time he'd dared to remove one of the gloves and touched his penis, it throbbed in his hand and an intense shockwave had rushed throughout his body, scaring him. Downstairs at breakfast, his burning cheeks had given his discovery away and Mummy ordered him to stand in the corner with his hands against the wall until lunch. He'd lost all feeling in his fingers and was afraid to even pee after that, but soon curiosity got the better of him. Instead of touching himself, he stayed on his stomach and used his feet to push himself back and forth against the sheets. That feeling was just as good, but the maid showed Mummy the mess on the sheets and, shame-faced, he'd been punished again.

His past faded away. He wasn't that terrorized twelve year-old boy anymore. He was sixteen, the gloves were long gone and his mother wasn't there in room 608, dictating his every move. He stared into Thomas' dark eyes and finally knew what the twisted up feelings in his guts were: arousal. He wanted to have sex with Thomas. The pain in his scalp and wrist faded to nothing as he savored the feeling of lust without guilt for the first time in his life. His eyes closed slowly as he became hyperaware of his body. He felt the blood rushing through his veins, felt a warm tingling in his nipples and felt the flex of his muscles beneath Thomas' hand around his wrist. He felt the heat of the other man's erection even through their trousers and felt the heavy press of his own erection against Thomas' thigh. His breathing sounded loud to his ears, his heartbeat an erratic pounding in his head.

He let out shuddered breaths as Thomas released his hair and slid his hand down his side, splaying his fingers against his lower back. His whimpers exploded into a low moan as Thomas' hips rolled forward while holding him in place with his hands. Arnold's free hand snaked around Thomas' waist, feeling the flex of his back muscles beneath his palm. His erection grew in his rapidly tightening jeans and he bit his lip to keep from shouting. When he'd rubbed himself against his sheets, he'd never thought denim and fine wool could be sensual. Now he was drowning in sensuality, blood rushing to harden his erection even as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

A teasing lick to his lips was followed by Thomas' muttered, "Beautiful," before his mouth was taken in another bone-melting kiss. He tried to lose himself in the kiss, but the pressure in his jeans was becoming unbearable. He couldn't stop the thrusts of his hips against Thomas' thigh, but that only made it worse. He broke away and panted heavily, feeling an intense throbbing in his erection and his entire body broke out in sweat.

He tried to get his hand between them to undo his zip, not wanting to come in his jeans. "I'm goin–" he got out before Thomas suddenly released his wrist and dropped to his knees.

Shocked, bewildered and shaken, Arnold watched as Thomas undid his button and zip and pushed his jeans and underwear down. He tried to grab his erection, but Thomas pushed his hands away and –

"Ohsmeg!" The back of his head hit the door as warm wetness engulfed his erection. The warmth immediately left and he wailed an inarticulate protest.

"Look at me," Thomas growled, and the sound did something funny to Arnold's insides.

He shivered as he looked down at the other man, his erection a dark red next to Thomas' spit-shiny lips as the older man knelt at his feet. "Wh-what are you doing?" he rasped.

"About to make you feel really good," Thomas said with a catch in his voice. "But you have to keep looking at me. It makes me hot."

The heat that spread through Arnold had little to do with embarrassment and all to do with the rush of need that welled up in him. He wanted Thomas to feel as good as he did. He didn't know if he could keep his eyes open, but he nodded anyway. He didn't know what to do with his hands – he was afraid of grabbing too tight like Thomas had done, so he clenched his hands into fists and kept them tight against the door. He hissed as Thomas' hand wrapped around the base of his erection, then shivered as lips closed over the head. He held Thomas' gaze as long as he could, but far too soon, he felt the rush of his climax. He bowed his head and let out a whine as he came harder than he'd ever done. Nothing else existed except the convulsions bringing such unbelievable ecstasy to his shaking body. His hips jerked out his final spurts and he groaned his pleasure, wanting nothing more than to lie down and savor the indescribable feeling.

A hand grabbed his jaw and Thomas sealed his mouth over Arnold's, flooding it with a bitter, salty taste. He gave a mild noise of protest, but felt too smegging good to care all that much. Jerking off had never felt like _that_. Sex with two people was amazing! He wrapped his arms around Thomas and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. The craving for touch, for comfort, was so strong he was nearly sick with it.

He made another small noise as Thomas' hands caressed his bare skin, shoving up under the back of his sweater and squeezing his arse. It took a few moments for his brain to completely come back online, and when it did, he felt shame heat his cheeks. He pulled back from the kiss and muttered, "You didn't…I mean, you…" he didn't finish his question because he could plainly see the outline of Thomas' erection in his trousers. Bravely, nervously, he asked, "What do I do? I d-don't think I can – do – _that_ –"

He leaned into the back of Thomas' knuckles as they caressed his cheek. "We'll get to that later, Arnold. Why don't you start by taking off my shirt?"

It was only then it registered that Thomas was fully clothed and he had his pants shoved halfway down his thighs. Feeling an odd mix of silly and aroused, he began pushing the little buttons through the button holes, exposing the tanned chest beneath. He licked his lips and felt Thomas' quick intake of breath beneath his hands. He glanced up and saw Thomas' gaze riveted on his mouth. Thoughts whirling too fast for him to digest, he spread open Thomas' shirt and pressed a kiss to his chest, expecting the same indrawn breath, but it didn't happen. Curious now, he undid the rest of the buttons and pulled the shirt out of Thomas' pants, marveling at the small, thin patch of hair nestled square on his chest. He saw Thomas' chest inhale again and realized he'd licked his lips. With a small, triumphant grin, he pressed his mouth to Thomas' chest and started to lick his skin, tasting the faintest trace of salt. The hairs tickled his tongue, so he moved to the side, taking a steadying breath before hesitantly licking a nipple. Thomas hissed at that and grabbed the back of his head. He winced as fingers tangled in his hair again, but Thomas only pressed him harder against his chest.

Settling his hands at Thomas' waist and stroking the smooth skin, he set to work licking the nipple that Thomas held him to. When he felt a tug at his hair to his left, he went eagerly to the neglected nipple and paid it the same attention. When he accidentally scraped his teeth along the hard nub and felt and heard the deep groan, he felt a rush of power. He did it again, just to feel the vibrations against his tongue. Braver now, he slipped his hands up Thomas' back, mapping out the muscles and tendons. He flattened his tongue and dragged it over the nipple, continued up to Thomas' collarbone and neck, where he started licking and sucking.

"Smeg," Thomas whispered hoarsely.

His head was released and he was pushed back abruptly. He stood, shocked, as Thomas tugged his sweater over his head. He blinked stupidly as Thomas pulled his own shirt off and threw it to the floor. "Get your smegging pants off," Thomas growled as he started to undo his button and fly.

Spurred into action, Arnold got his shoes off in the most uncoordinated fashion, then stepped out of his crumpled jeans and underwear. Before he could feel embarrassed about being naked in front of Thomas, his eyes traveled up the other man's just-as-naked body. From his calves, knees and thighs…swallowing and licking his lips as he saw first-hand the effect he was having on Thomas' penis…to the trim waist, broad chest and arms, finally to the flushed face.

He was breathing as harshly as Thomas, whose eyes were nearly black with lust, and another shiver went through Arnold. He felt his penis start to thicken again and gasped – _that_ definitely had never happened before. Was this what sex did to you – made you want to keep having it?

Thomas' gaze went to his groin, and with a faint groan, grabbed his wrist and dragged him into his arms. Arnold was swept up in another kiss, this time with skin pressed to skin, and his body grew hot all over again. From the nudge of Thomas' erection against his stomach, to the press of their chests, to the arms holding him tightly, he'd never felt such an electrifying moment.

That is, until Thomas turned them and settled over Arnold on the bed.

Arnold choked on a sob as the weight of Thomas' entire body, legs to chest, pressed against his. He'd gone from a life of polite, formal touches, to hated touches meant to inflict humiliation to – this. This glorious, damp press of bodies that made his blood sing. Just the fact that he could feel Thomas' erection next to his own would have been enough to set him off, but he vowed to try to hold his orgasm back until Thomas came.

"Spread your legs," Thomas grunted and pushed his left knee outward.

Lost in a haze of sensation, he bent his knees and let them fall to the sides, groaning as Thomas shifted his hips. Now Thomas' erection was beneath him, nestled in the crack of his arse. His hands rested uselessly at the small of Thomas' back as his body tried to process its new heightened awareness.

He didn't get a chance to even catch his breath before Thomas raked his nails down his chest. He cried out as his back arched, nerve endings alive and screaming for more. He didn't realize he was digging his nails into Thomas' skin until he felt teeth nip at his neck, bringing him sharply back into focus.

"You like it a bit rough, eh?" Thomas murmured in his ear.

Unsure what Thomas meant by that, he started to apologize. "I'm sor—"

His mouth was reclaimed in kiss, this one with nips to his lower lip. As Thomas grew more aggressive, he grew timid, not liking the sting of his bites. His protests were muffled by Thomas' insistent mouth, and then his wrists were grabbed and held above his head.

He stopped responding altogether, terrified and confused. Thomas kept kissing him, as though he hadn't noticed Arnold gone completely still. This wasn't sexy, or fun, or arousing – this was scaring the smeg out of him. He couldn't even call to Thomas to let him go, because he wouldn’t relent from his mouth.

He tried to squirm away, but Thomas groaned and thrust his hips, sending a surge of pleasure throughout his body which confused him more. Finally desperate, he screamed as best he could with his mouth and tongue occupied, and Thomas slowly released his bottom lip from between his teeth.

Thomas was breathing deeply, his gaze unfocused. "Arnie, my beautiful boy. It's time to pay up."

"What?" he asked, hurt and anxious. He felt incredibly exposed, naked beneath Thomas, hands held above his head. He tried to pull one of his hands down, but Thomas tightened his grip and glared at him.

"Don't move your arms."

The tone Thomas used was exactly the same tone Arnold's father used to bark questions at him during meals. The familiarity sent Arnold's stomach rolling with nausea – he didn't want to associate sex with anything to do with his father. He swallowed against the rising bile and nodded, too scared to speak. He kept still as Thomas leaned up over him toward the head of the bed and retrieved a pillow and some things that thudded dully onto the bed.

Arnold's stomach clenched in dread and fear and his eyes tracked every movement of Thomas' hands. He tore open a condom pack and rolled it over his erection with his long, sure fingers. Then, he opened a tube of something and squirted it onto his palm. Despite Arnold's worry, he felt his mouth go dry and licked his lips as Thomas stroked his own erection.

Thomas' groan dragged his gaze away from his hands to his face. Thomas was staring down at his mouth hungrily. "You're killing me, Arnie. That's for later. Right now, I need to bury myself in that tight little arse of yours."

Every muscle tensed and his stomach churned violently. "What?" he squeaked, wanting to crawl away but a nasty look from Thomas kept him still. "You want to what?"

"How do you think men have sex, Arnie? We don't just blow each other or give hand jobs." Thomas leaned down and he turned his head away, only to have his hair gripped and his head turned so he was staring up at Thomas again. "Don't ever look away from me."

So terrified he was shaking, Arnold stammered out, "Y-yes, sir."

"Better," Thomas murmured his approval.

The harsh grip relaxed into a gentle stroking of his hair, and Arnold had never had such a confused mess of feelings. He was sickened and aroused, scared and anxious. How could he be all those things at the same time? He watched with growing dread as Thomas strapped something that looked incredibly painful around the base of his erection, but Thomas seemed to enjoy it.

"This is a cock ring," Thomas explained when he caught him staring. "It's going to keep me hard inside of you."

That statement didn't ease Arnold's fears; it made them worse. Considering that Thomas had kept a partial erection through all of their kissing, Arnold's orgasm, and Thomas' constant stroking, Arnold didn't want to think how long Thomas could stay hard with help. "Is this – will it hurt?" he braved to ask, because he couldn't think how _that_ was going to fit into… _there_.

Thomas crawled over him and he began to panic, but then Thomas gave him a gentle kiss, twisting his emotions again. "I can make you feel very, very good, or very, very bad. It's up to you."

He didn't understand. He'd been in a whirlwind of emotion since he'd stepped into room 608. He couldn't think straight, but even with his mind in a frenzy, he knew that large objects didn't go easily into small holes. "Wouldn't you rather have it in my mouth?" he asked tentatively. He really didn't want to do that either, but it seemed better to stick Thomas' erection in his much bigger mouth.

His hair was stroked again and Thomas bent down to drag the point of his tongue over his cheek. "I don't want to put you out, Arnie. This way, all you have to do is lie back and take it. I promise you," the older man whispered in his ear, "It can be smegging mind-blowing if you let it."

Arnold gasped as fingers tweaked his right nipple, then a nail scratched over it, sending a bolt of pleasure to his penis, which started to fill again. Thomas' hair dragged little trails of sensation after it as he began licking at Arnold's chest. Arnold bucked under his mouth as teeth closed over one nipple and tugged it upward, causing him to groan in blissful agony. It was like a straight shot to his penis, and he found himself begging for, "More. Please, more."

He forgot about his exposed position as Thomas used hands and mouth, teeth and fingernails to drag him to the edge of coming again. He was making strangled noises as he felt his orgasm build up, then hard pressure around the head of his penis had his erection flagging. Bewildered, he raised his head to look down, where Thomas was holding his erection.

"Not yet, you don't," Thomas murmured into his skin with a dangerous smile. "My turn first."

Worry clenched his stomach, not quite as powerful as before, but still enough to make him nervous. He watched Thomas again take up the tube and squirt the liquid into his hand, smearing it over his fingers.

"Bend your knees and set your feet flat on the bed," Thomas instructed. "Now raise your hips."

Face flaming with heat, he did so, and a pillow was placed at the small of his back, tilting his hips upward.

"Now grab behind your knees and pull your legs toward your head. Yeah," Thomas moaned as he lifted his knees as instructed. "That's it. Spread 'em out so I can get to you."

While Arnold's brain tried to ignore the uncomfortable, very exposed position he was in now, he felt a cold pressure against his arsehole and yelped. He started to drop his legs, but a sharp slap to the outside of his thigh stopped him.

"I can't shove straight into you, though smeg knows I'd love to," Thomas said wistfully, sending Arnold's stomach plummeting. "This is lube on my finger; it's going to make you nice and slick so you can take me. Hold still."

He tried, but feeling something going in where it shouldn't made him extremely uncomfortable. It didn't hurt, it just felt – odd.

"Breathe," Thomas murmured and he realized he was holding his breath.

He exhaled slowly, beginning to relax, when the pressure increased. A whimper stuck in his throat and he wriggled, trying to get it out, but Thomas pressed in deeper. "Stop. Please stop. I don't think I want to do this," he begged shamelessly, finally too scared to not speak up. He thought he was ready for sex, but he definitely wasn't ready for _this_. It was too much; too intimate, and –

His back arched as what felt like lightning shot through him from whatever Thomas had just done. He couldn’t make a sound as his vision all but whited out, though his mouth was open on a scream. His penis filled so rapidly that it almost hurt and every molecule of skin was tingling. He only realized he'd been holding his breath again when the pressure really smegging _hurt_ and he tried to draw a breath to _really_ scream. As he choked on breaths, Thomas leaned between his spread legs, his eyes closed in intense concentration.

"So…smegging…tight," Thomas breathed.

Tears leaked out of Arnold's eyes as he squeezed them tightly closed, but then Thomas grabbed his jaw and snarled, "I _said_ don't look away from me."

His lashes were stuck together with tears, but he did as he was told, looking up into the red, taut face. Thomas didn't look handsome now, with a wild look in his eyes and the straining effort around his mouth. "I'm going to make sure you never forget me, no matter how many people fuck you."

On that frightening proclamation, Thomas began to move. It felt to Arnold like he was being pulled from the inside out. Thomas' expression looked like he was enjoying himself immensely. All Arnold could feel was stretched, achy and nervous. This had already gone on longer than any of Arnold's masturbation fantasies and he started to grow concerned about how much longer it would take. A few more in and out movements and the achy part began to fade and astonishingly, he began to feel…good.

Something must have shown on his face, as Thomas leaned down and licked at his lips. "Starting to get into it, eh? Maybe we should try this…" and he twisted his hips.

That jolt of lightning coursed through him again, though not as intense as that first time, and his back arched in pleasure. His erection hit his stomach and he cried out, wanting to stroke himself. As he took his hand off his leg, Thomas grabbed it and pushed it onto the bed near his head.

"No, you don't," he growled. "No touching."

He let out a frustrated noise and tried his other hand, which Thomas also grabbed and pushed onto the bed. Now he was truly trapped and unable to move. His eyes widened and he started wriggling his body, trying to get some sort of leverage, but Thomas only tightened his grip and groaned.

"Yeah, like that."

He dug his heels into Thomas' back and thrust his hips up. Nothing touched his erection, but that something inside him lit up again and he whined, "I need to come. I have to touch myself. Please," he added and Thomas gave a hard thrust, rocking him back to the bed with a grunt.

"You'll come if I say you can," Thomas threatened, and frustrated, frightened tears rolled backward into his hair.

It felt like forever that Thomas thrust into him, sometimes hitting that incredible spot which kept his erection going. Eventually, Thomas' head dropped next to his and he felt teeth pressed against his neck as Thomas' grunts filled his ear. The grips around his wrists tightened painfully and he cried out desperately, "Thomas, you're hurt– _SMEG_!" he screamed as Thomas bit into his neck on a forceful thrust. At the same time, Thomas hit that special place and his hips jerked, sending a spiral of pleasure through his erection, but it still wasn't enough to come. Torn between pleasure and pain, he pled through his tears, "Let me come. Please let me come. Touch me. Anything, pleasepleaseplease…"

"You beg so…smegging… brilliantly …" Thomas gasped on his thrusts. He kissed Arnold deeply as he slowed his hips, aiming for that special place again.

Arnold groaned happily into the kiss, relieved twofold – Thomas had stopped taking bites out of his skin and he'd started to drive into that little place more often. His world narrowed down to the sparks of ecstasy that were happening more frequently, so much that he didn't notice that Thomas released his wrists until they were held again.

Thomas' thrusting pace increased alarmingly fast and he resumed marking Arnold's skin, but Arnold was almost too far gone to care. He felt his body tense for orgasm and he began to moan. As his orgasm slammed into him without him even touching his erection, Thomas let out a surprised yelp and slammed against his arse a few more times, bracing himself with his hands crushing Arnold's wrists. Thomas' groan of satisfaction sank deep into Arnold's skin along with his teeth as the older man came.

The highest high of his life was abruptly killed by Thomas' assault on his body, and Arnold's wails degenerated to loud sobs as the radiating pain wound down into separate throbbing points on his body. Both wrists throbbed in time with his heartbeat, which was racing as fast as his mind. His lip was bleeding – he must have bitten into it without realizing. His neck and shoulder ached in a multitude of places where Thomas had bitten him. He felt warmth trickling from the side of his neck and fervently hoped it was only sweat. His thighs ached from their bent position. His arsehole felt hot and stretched. But the worst was his chest; it felt like his heart had been ripped out, cut into billions of pieces and left out in the Ionian lavaflows.

Thomas' forehead was resting on his shoulder as he caught his breath, seemingly oblivious to his crying.

He was only supposed to come up to see about supper. That was the thought that circled in his head as the sweat and come dried on his body. He was only supposed to come up to see about supper. Instead, he'd had sex for the first time with a complete stranger who wasn’t entirely gentle or loving to him. He'd surely lost his mind as he'd wanted to have sex, though not quite so forcefully or so painfully.

More tears slipped down his face as he wondered what happened now. Thomas would undoubtedly tell Mr. Williams what had happened, and he'd be back out on the street. No one wanted a – a _trollop_ working for them. Maybe if he swore never to tell anyone what happened, Thomas wouldn't tell Mr. Williams. Or maybe he could find a way to sneak out, find Miss Faye and explain what happened before Thomas did. Only he didn't know how to explain it, or even _what_ to explain, because he didn't understand any of it.

Thomas groaned as he pushed himself off of Arnold's body, causing Arnold to hiss at the pressure against his still-held wrists. He left his arms where they were even after Thomas released him, not knowing what else to do with them. He let his legs drop to the bed, hissing again at the tingling in his feet, so like the tingling in his hands when his mother caught him masturbating for the first time. He wanted to curl up somewhere and hide, but he was too big for that. After all, hadn't he just done a manly, adult thing by having sex? That's what he'd always thought, anyway. He didn't feel much like a man or a grown up. He felt very small, and lost, and desperately wanted someone to tell him things would be okay.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas' hand move toward his face. He hunched his shoulders and turned away, afraid of having his hair grabbed or his jaw held again.

He winced as Thomas cupped his face in an almost affectionate caress, thumb wiping at his tears. "Not exactly how you pictured your first time, I take it," the older man noted sympathetically.

He sniffled and asked brokenly, "Why?" wanting to ask a dozen more specific questions, but he couldn't make himself form the words. Why him? Why have sex with him? Why hurt him?

"Now that's a loaded question." Thomas' expression grew soft with remembrance and his fingers continued to stroke his cheek, following the tear-tracks reverently. It was everything Arnold could do not to curl away from him in revulsion. "When I saw you earlier today, I knew I had to have you. You had such an innocence about you, such utter naiveté. Bringing the girl in was a stroke of genius. You really believed she liked you, after talking to you for a couple of minutes?" he stated, his tone filled with wondering disbelief.

An unsettled feeling began in his gut. How had Thomas known that? No one had been in the kitchen when Ashley came round. Before he could gather the courage to ask, Thomas continued his litany of how pathetic he was with that odd gleam in his eye.

"And that face when you thought she was going to kiss you! It was obvious you'd never kissed anyone, so it stood to reason you'd never had sex. Not the way you were blushing and stammering and…" Thomas' voice broke off in a soft groan.

Thomas seemed to be done recounting his humiliating afternoon and he still didn't know _how_ he knew. Had Thomas somehow sneaked down to the kitchen and listened at the door? He could have, because Arnold doubted he would have noticed anyone other than Ashley in the room. He licked his lips nervously and asked, "How do you know what happened?" despite his heart thudding hard in his chest and a small part of him screaming that he didn't want to know – to let it be. "No one was there."

Thomas' gaze was riveted on his mouth as he answered distractedly, "The camera. You were broadcast on a glorious 14 foot wide vid screen."

He felt his face drain of all color as he stared at Thomas in shock. Camera? There was a camera in the kitchen? And his meeting with Ashley was…shown to Thomas? His stomach gave a sickening lurch. Humiliation and embarrassment flushed his upper chest and neck. He swallowed back the urge to vomit and demanded, "Why –" he could barely get the words out. "Why watch me? I'm nothing special. I'm nobody."

Thomas groaned again and stroked his ankle. "It's _exactly_ because you're nobody, Arnie. No one cares about you. You've no place to go, no one to turn to and no one to look for you."

He thought he didn't have any more tears to shed, but a few more trickled down his face as he realized the truth of Thomas' words.

He winced as Thomas stroked his hand up his leg to the crease in his thigh, watching his expression turn to one of lust again. "But you're wrong about one thing; you _are_ special. You were damned near perfect and worth every dollarpound."

A full body tremor shook him and his stomach lurched sickeningly again. He shook his head mutely, not wanting to put together the little things that were starting to add up: Miss Faye knew he wouldn't be down until tomorrow. The questions about him having a boyfriend or girlfriend. The locked door. Time to pay up. A slow, dawning horror, a new revulsion the likes of which he never thought he could experience, began to creep up on him.

Thomas clucked his tongue, his expression almost forlorn. "I see that wonderful naïveté is taking quite a bruising. Should I rip the bandage off, or do you want to work it out for yourself?"

"You paid someone to…watch me?" he asked, almost hopeful. He wouldn't be able to handle what his brain was buzzing around. He'd heard stories from boys at school. He'd overheard John talking about one of his trips to Mimas.

Thomas just looked at him steadily, not saying anything.

He wouldn't let himself think it. He wouldn't. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his stomach twisted and heaved. Bile burned his throat.

"Toilet's that way," Thomas pointed and Arnold ran, barely making it to the toilet before he lost the little content in his stomach. He leaned his head against the tank, relishing its coolness. He had a headache, his wrists, shoulder and neck throbbed with pain and now his stomach was sour and his throat burned. All he wanted was to be left alone, but he heard Thomas step into the bathroom. 

"No," he barked and curled his arms tighter around himself, trying to hold the tremors at bay. "No!" he repeated hysterically. "It can't be true. You like me."

"I do like you," Thomas assured him. "I liked you more when you were still a virgin, but yeah, you've got a mix of innocence and sensuality about you that's just irresistible."

Hearing about his finer qualities as defined by someone who paid to have sex with him caused him to start laughing. It sounded hollow to his ears, and the laughter quickly morphed into crying.

Thomas crouched down next to him and his mind registered that they were both ridiculously naked. He might have found it funny, if he weren’t trying desperately to hold onto his sanity. Everything felt really big and really small at the same time. Colors whirled in his vision and white noise buzzed in his ears. He wanted to lean into the hand on his shoulder, but his body shuddered in loathing as he knew who it belonged to. The man who bought him. If he was bought, then someone had to be paid. Morbid curiosity caused him ask, "Who did you pay?"

He reeled from not just one shocking answer, but two. "Your Mr. Williams, of course. This is his brothel," Thomas added almost as an afterthought.

A brothel. He was living and working in a brothel. Hank, Alice – they worked – they _knew_ – and he'd been lied to – how long? The day Hank rescued him? Sometime before? Did that gang find him, or had they been led to him? Had he been chosen as an easy target? Dozens more questions flitted in and out of his head, but one question went around endlessly: _Why was this happening to him?_

"You really didn't know, did you? Williams will love that he was right." Thomas chuckled darkly.

Maybe he was nothing more than a whore if all it took were a few kind words to get into his pants. His mother's voice, forever taunting him from his memory, reminded him: _I had to whore myself to keep you from being held back, then there were the endless meetings with the Headmaster._ Like mother, like son.

"C'mon, Arnie. I'm tired and want to go to bed. Let's get up, rinse out your mouth, shower and go to sleep. I can fuck that pretty mouth in the morning."

He glanced up and Thomas' hand was out, offering to help him up. The kindness from a few hours ago now seemed hollow – nothing more than lies to make him agreeable. He shook his head, then cringed at Thomas' mixed expression of annoyance and excitement.

"You can sleep in your dried-up spunk for all I care, but I said, _get up_ ," Thomas snarled before grabbing his wrist and yanking him upright.

He yelped in pain and grabbed Thomas' arm, trying to loosen the grip on his bruised wrist. Panicked beyond thought, he braced his feet on the floor and pulled his arm, ignoring the tears and the pain in an effort to get away. As his foot bumped into Thomas', he lifted it and stomped down as hard as he could with his heel. Thomas was startled enough to loosen his grip and Arnold ran for the main door and twisted the knob frantically, but it wouldn't open.

"The door's electronically sealed," Thomas called from the other doorway. "It will only open one of two ways: I give the order or tomorrow when Williams comes to collect you."

His forehead fell to the door and he started to cry in earnest. Why was this happening to him? What had he done to deserve this? Why couldn't he just go home? Then he remembered and his shoulders hunched as more tears fell. He slammed his fist into the door, just one feeble attempt, then sank to the floor, lost in his misery.

 


	5. Covered in Shame, Now Take the Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All chapter titles are from Gravity Kills lyrics, because a lot of their songs inspired this story.
> 
> Chapter 5 warnings: forced prostitution, underage sex, non-consensual, rape, physical abuse, psychological trauma, rough sex, explicit language, m/m
> 
> Thomas gets his full money's worth out of Arnold and Gregory comes to collect his merchandise.

Arnold had no recollection of how he got from the front door to the bed the night before. He was clean when he woke up, so Thomas must have washed him. Or he'd just propped him up in the shower stall – he really didn't want to know, either way. 

After a night of being held in someone's arms – an ideal fantasy ruined by Thomas' hand cupping his penis and balls most of the night – he'd spent the next morning cleaning up his own sick. Thomas had tried relentlessly to "fuck his pretty mouth," but Arnold had gagged every time the erection was forced down his throat. Finally, throat raw, eyes watering and kneeling on a damp rug, Arnold sucked on the head and stroked the shaft until Thomas came. He was saved having to swallow Thomas' semen but the alternative was just as disgusting. He didn't feel as beautiful as Thomas had proclaimed him to be with the sticky residue drying on his mouth, nose, cheek and jaw. He ran his fingers through his wet hair expecting to feel the clumps of dried cum, even though he'd just scrubbed himself vigorously. He wondered if he'd ever feel clean again. 

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror with flat, dull eyes. The hot tea he'd managed to choke down after Thomas had finished with him churned alarmingly in his stomach at the image that stared back. Red and purple marks all along his neck, shoulder and chest, teeth marks standing out vividly among the bruises, purpling skin around his wrists and forearms, not to mention the dark circles under his eyes because he couldn't sleep. Was this what he was going to look like from now on? Was this what his life was going to be?

Thomas was right about some things - he had no one to tell that he shouldn't be there and no one to miss him. He'd never signed any agreement or contract or whatever was needed to prove he was there by his own free will, because he wasn't, and Thomas didn't seem to care. He doubted the next man would either, or the next, or… 

He splashed water on his face before he started crying again. Thomas had made grumblings about it not being "adorable" anymore, so he pressed his fingers to his eyes to stop the hot rush of tears he could feel building. 

Did police actually patrol brothels, or did they not care, like Alice had said? He didn't trust anything she'd told him, not anymore, but in his three weeks there, he hadn't heard about any official visits. Of course, he'd been kept in the dark about where he was actually working, so there was still a faint possibility that someone would discover him there and arrest everyone involved. 

"Arnold, you can't hide in there all day. The door doesn't lock," Thomas called from the other room. 

He dried his face and avoided the mirror. He'd rather not ever see himself like that again. He opened the door and blanked his mind, trying to will himself out of his body like he'd used to do while being tormented in school. Anything would be better than the reality Arnold found himself in.

=-=-=-=

It felt like an eternity later, but finally a knock came at the door and Gregory's voice called out, "McGillis, time's up." 

Thomas had arranged them so they were facing the vid screen/mirror, though Arnold hadn't looked directly at it the entire time. His only reaction was a hitch in his breathing as Thomas pulled out of his arse for hopefully the last time in his life. Thomas had been up there for what felt like hours – not moving, just in him after he'd fucked him, gradually softening inside him. Arnold couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to, as Thomas had been pressed up tight against his back, hips flush against his arse and one arm wrapped around his chest that had trapped his arms to his sides. Thomas' other hand had played with his balls until he was numb from the pain. He'd let his mind drift on a sea of nothingness for the last however many hours, though he was fairly certain Thomas had tried to stick his dick down his throat more than a couple dozen times after he'd come out of the bathroom earlier that morning. At some point he'd eaten actual food, though it had sat heavily in his stomach. He'd been made to come twice and nearly came a third, but by then, Thomas had been hard again. Fucking his arse had been the last of it. 

He closed his eyes as Thomas released him and left the bed to open the door. He heard Gregory and Hank, then Thomas, talking in low tones. It was all a murmur of sound until he heard his name being called by Gregory.

"Arnold? Hey, kid, you awake?" 

He didn't bother lifting his head from the bed – he was just a piece of arse to them, anyway. 

"His eyes were open just a moment ago," Thomas explained, then emitted a dark, humorless chuckle. "I might have fucked him out." 

"Yeah," Gregory agreed, though his tone was wary. "Hank, get the payment while I check on the kid." 

"He's fine," Thomas called, his voice moving across the room, "Just sleeping it off." 

Hank's annoyed voice grew closer as he growled, "You better mean the kid's just tired, because I don't tolerate clients drugging my merchandise." 

"You know I don’t mess with that smeg," Thomas answered Gregory's accusation. "You think I'd have wanted anything tainting that experience?" 

A tear made its way down his cheek. First he was merchandise, now he was an experience. Everything but a scared, lost, helpless kid being used by those he'd stupidly trusted.

He heard Gregory take a quick breath. "Smegging hell, McGillis, did you chew on him?" A hand touched his shoulder and a muscle jumped involuntarily. "Kid? Arnold? You okay?"

His eyes popped open at the unexpected question. Was he okay? Had anyone asked him that after his mother threw him out? Any of the hotel managers, shopkeepers, food workers, bank tellers, or people who passed him the street? Other than Hank and Alice, no one had bothered, and they'd lied to him. And all Gregory wanted to do was make sure his merchandise wasn't ruined for the next client's experience. 

Maybe he was okay. Maybe the numbness that had taken over his body was permanent and he'd never have to feel anything, ever again. That would be preferable to his life, before and now. 

"Toss off, Williams. So I got a bit rough; it's not like it hasn't happened before," Thomas deflected, unconcerned. "Besides, he just begs for it. When you fuck him, you'll see what I mean."

Arnold closed his eyes again, squeezing out more tears. His shoulders shook as he cried quietly, wishing he was back at home in his room, the happy sounds of his brothers roughhousing making him jealous that he wasn't included. 

His shoulder was patted gently and Gregory's voice was almost – almost sympathetic. "Yeah, kid, you'll be okay. I'll get a doctor up here to take a look at you." 

Hank's voice interrupted, sounding angry. "Gregory, you best take a look at this." 

"What?" Gregory's voice grew fainter as he stepped away from Arnold, leaving him alone. "Is that a recorder? How the smeg did you get that past our scanners?" 

Thomas' voice held a note of pride as he said, "Latest invention by the team on Europa."

"Destroy it," barked Gregory, and Arnold heard scuffling. 

"That's my property," Thomas growled. "Destroy it and I'll sue you."

"Recording devices are illegal in brothels and you know it," Gregory shouted back. "I could lose my license if it got out."

"Thirty thousand dollarpounds says I can do whatever the smeg I want," Thomas raged.

Arnold felt his mouth curl up in the smallest, tiniest bit of pride. Thomas paid thirty thousand dollarpounds for him? Was that what he was worth? At least he was a very expensive piece of arse. He tuned out the rest of their argument and drifted to sleep. 

When he next became aware of his surroundings, the curtains and windows were open, letting in light and a warm breeze. He snuggled down deeper under the covers and let out a soft sigh. It was quiet – no yelling from downstairs, no Howard pummeling on his door to wake him, no Frank trying to muffle his wife's high-pitched moans in the room next door. Just blissful, blissful quiet. 

He started to roll over and froze as pain lanced down his neck. His eyes flew open and he saw himself in the wall-size mirror opposite the bed. The skin on his neck and shoulder was raw and bruised a nasty purplish-reddish-yellowish-green, with small bandages here and there covering throbbing islands of pain that continued down his chest. He wasn't at home. He hadn't been home in months. He didn't have a smegging, goited thing to his name.

But he was worth 30,000 dollarpounds.

That thought didn't bring tears, it brought anger. He may be just a thick kid, but he knew there had to be laws that protected workers in brothels. Surely there were laws that protected minors from prostitution and the underhanded way that Gregory had tricked him into it. Okay, so he wasn't technically a minor anymore, but he would think of a way to use that to his advantage. 

If nothing else; if he was stuck in this life, then he was going to get his share of the money that Thomas had paid for him. He'd literally worked his arse for it, and he was going to get it. Being nice and timid and polite had gotten him so far smegging down that the bottom was somewhere above him. Fuck it – it was time to play dirty. 

When Gregory came with the doctor to check on him, he cowered under the covers, hiding his bruises. 

"I need to check how you're doing, Arnold," the doctor persuaded him quietly. "I'm here to help you. I'm Doctor Y'drell. You can call me Anise." 

He didn't know if this doctor was aware of what Gregory had done to him, but he let his eyes fill with tears and sniffled. "That man – Thomas – made me do things," he said in a small voice. 

"I'm sure he did, sweetheart," the doctor murmured as she pressed gently at his neck and chest, her lips pressed in a tight, thin line.

He sniffled again and fixed her with big, wide eyes. "B-but why did he do it? I don't understand."

The doctor's mouth turned down in a frown as she checked the wounds under his bandages. "What do you mean? Didn't you negotiate the terms before you had sex?" 

"He was nervous," Gregory interjected quickly, glowering at Arnold. "He didn't want to talk to the client, so I negotiated for him." 

The doctor glanced between him and Gregory. "That's highly unusual," she said slowly. 

Arnold felt hope rise in his chest at the doctor's furrowed brow. She didn't know what Gregory had done to him, so he played up his shock and ignorance. "A negotiation for having s-sex? Why would I do that? I didn't know I was going to have s-sex," he answered, eyes darting from Doctor Y'drell's confused gaze to Gregory's furious one. "I thought I was getting a supper order, only Thomas wouldn't let me leave and then made me have sex with him. I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn't let me go." The best thing about everything he was saying was that it was the truth, and he had the doctor hanging on his every word. He finished with the damning evidence, "I heard Thomas tell Mr. Williams that he recorded it so he could watch what he did to me later."

Doctor Y'drell turned to Gregory and demanded, "Mr. Williams, what's going on here?"   
Arnold's mouth curled up in a knowing smirk behind her back. 

Gregory's eyes narrowed at him, then he turned to the doctor and insisted, "The kid's just scared of what he did and ashamed of what happened – who wouldn't be with those bruises – but he's legal." 

"What do you mean 'legal'? Like a work permit?" Arnold asked quickly before the doctor could say anything, keeping up his ignorance act. "I don't have one, yet. I can't until I turn sixteen. Am I in trouble?" he added fearfully.

The doctor's head whipped from him to Gregory, eyes narrowed. "I want to see this young man's authorization papers immediately, Mr. Williams," she demanded. 

He could see the vein throbbing in Gregory's temple, a sure sign he was furious. Good. Actually saying out loud what had been done to him, how he'd been manipulated and used, made him all the angrier. 

"He's lying," Gregory insisted loudly, glowering at Arnold. "I have his birth date on record." 

Arnold narrowed his eyes and felt all the anger, fear, frustration, helplessness, cowardice and loneliness build up inside him. He wanted Gregory to pay for lying to him, betraying his trust, selling him out and then keeping all the money. He kept his voice low as he stated, "Wherever you got my birth date from, it's wrong. I'm not allowed to tell anyone what my real birth date is, because Father changed my birth certificate so that I was older to get me into school earlier. David Rimmer wanted all his sons to be Space Corps officers and he didn't want to wait a half a year for me to start school." He bet on the faint hope that the doctor might have heard of his family, and she didn't disappoint.

"You're not related to Captain John Rimmer, are you?" she asked with a note of alarm in her tone. 

"He's my older brother," he confirmed, letting tears fill his eyes again. "Along with Frank and Howard. Do they know what's happened to me? Have they been looking for me?" He doubted it, but he could taste freedom on his tongue and he wanted out of the brothel and out of Tvashtar Catena as fast as possible. 

Sweat trickled down Gregory's temple and Arnold could see him trying to work out if he was lying about his age or not. 

Doctor Y'drell apparently didn't care if he was lying as she demanded, "Where are Mr. Rimmer's clothes? I'm removing him from these premises under the authority of the Health and Safety Executive."

"You can't do that! I heard him say he was sixteen!" Gregory shouted, and the room fell silent. 

"You heard him?" Doctor Y'drell seethed. "That's your justification? Do you have a signed contract? Work verification papers? Have you even seen his ID?" She didn't wait for Gregory to answer – his expression said it all. 

She slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a small communication device. "Get Mr. Rimmer's clothes while I contact the police," she instructed Gregory. "If we're not out of this building in ten minutes, I'll file charges of obstruction and disobeying a direct order of an HSE appointed officer. Understand?" 

Gregory huffed angrily and Arnold fully expected to be attacked. Instead, Gregory went to the table and crushed his clothes in his hands, then threw them at him. "You're gonna cost me a lot of money, kid," he threatened quietly, darting a glance to the doctor, who was still on the communication. 

"More than you think," Arnold threatened right back, sneering. "Or shouldn't I get a percentage of the 30,000 dollarpounds I earned?" 

"That's my money, you little shit," Gregory hissed.

"Better a little shit than your whore," he hissed back, tears wetting his face without him realizing he was crying. "It was taken out of my neck, my shoulder, my chest, my arms…" indicating the bruises littering his body, "And my fucking arse. You lied to me, you used me and you're going to pay for what you've done." He pulled on his clothes with shaking hands, his stomach churning but his chest lighter than it had felt in months. He was sore everywhere, but managed to stand on his own. He pushed his feet into his shoes and straightened to see the doctor finishing her communication. 

"Mr. Williams, the police will be in touch. Mr. Rimmer, do you need to get anything?" she asked him.

The rage that had been building fizzled out, leaving him drained. All he wanted to do was get out of the brothel and never, ever see it again. "No, ma'am," he said tiredly. "This is all I have." 

A mix of pity and worry crossed her features as she stepped between him and Gregory, indicating he should go toward the door first. "I'm taking us straight to the police station. We need to get word to your parents and brothers where you are." 

He felt Gregory's icy glare between his shoulderblades as he passed by, but he was more worried about the police notifying his parents. But that was a discussion for them, not Doctor Y'drell. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured as the stepped into the hall and walked toward the lift. Down in the lobby, he couldn't help but stare at the rows of curtains that divided the large room. It was actually a nice-looking lobby, very clean and subdued, if a bit dark. Not that he had any intention of staying. 

"Do I have to go to the police station here?" he asked as the doctor hailed a taxi. "Can't I go to the one at home?" 

"Why don't you want to see the police straight away?" she asked as they got into the taxi and instructed the driver to take them to the station. 

"I don't trust anyone here," he stated frankly, wondering if he should even be trusting her. "Though if you're going to notify my family of where I am, maybe it's best if I'm far away from them." 

She shifted to face him on the small seat. "What do you mean? Isn't your family worried about you?"

He leaned his head on the window and idly watched the buildings go by. "I doubt it," he answered. "My parents threw me out about four months ago. When they learn where I've been and what I've done, they'll fully disown me."

"But none of that was your fault back there, Mr. Rimmer," she stated vehemently. "What Mr. Williams did to you was illegal, immoral and unethical." 

"They won't care," he shrugged, far beyond crying over what his parents thought of him. "If I did it, it's all my fault. 'A Rimmer doesn't make excuses'," he quoted his father. 

"I think we best go straight to the police," the doctor murmured worriedly. 

Arnold breathed a little easier when he saw the large building with POLICE engraved above the doors. He didn't know what it was about police buildings, but they had a unique look about them that instantly made you feel safe. As the taxi stopped at the curb, he turned to the doctor. "Can you come in with me? I know you don’t know me, but I don't want to be alone for this." 

"I have to go inside to make my statement on what I saw and heard," she told him gently, "But only your legal guardian or counsel can be with you when you give your statement." 

Dejected, he nodded. He had no choice but to go in alone if he was to punish Gregory for what he'd done. He exited first, then held the door for Doctor Y'drell as she paid the taxi. He walked next to her, feeling smaller the closer they got to the double doors. "I'm scared," he admitted quietly. "I don't want everyone to know what happened to me. I don't want to be laughed at."

"No one will laugh at you," Doctor Y'drell told him confidently. "You were a victim. Just tell the truth, Mr. Rimmer. That's all you need to do." 

Her endorsement for the truth hung over him and he slowed down. His last jab at Gregory about his birth certificate had been a lie. He wanted the man to rot in jail for what he'd done, and saying that he was only fifteen would ensure it. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him then, but in the daylight, right outside the double doors to the police station, he saw how that one lie could destroy the credibility of everything else he would say. 

Nervous about what might happen to him, he stopped and waited for Doctor Y'drell to turn back to him, then admitted, "I lied about my birth certificate being changed. I really am sixteen, but everything else I said was the truth. I thought it was a boarding house. I thought I was going up to ask a guest what he wanted for supper. I thought Gregory and Alice and Hank felt sorry for me and were helping me get a job as a cook or something." Tears sprung to his eyes. "I had no idea I was s-sold until after Tho- after it happened the first time. Even he lied to me. He made me think he liked me, then he t-told me he'd bought me." He looked fearfully up at Doctor Y'drell, her dark complexion paler now. "Will the police send me back there because I lied?"

"You won't be going back there, ever," she promised him emphatically. "I didn't tell the police that you were underage, just that there might be underage workers at that brothel," she assured him. "But you tell the whole truth from now on, understand? I won't have you jeopardizing future victims' cases." 

The relief he felt that he wouldn't go back was so strong, it took him a moment to catch what she said. "There are others?" 

She looked at him sadly. "I've found girls as young as twelve years old in much worse places than that. I don't want to make light of what you experienced, but you were lucky. Nothing was broken or irreparably damaged." Her hand reached out and he instinctively flinched away from her touch. She immediately pulled her hand back and apologized. "I'm so sorry. I know better than that – I'm sorry." 

He studied her remorseful expression; saw the pity and sorrow in her eyes. "You're the first person to apologize to me and mean it," he stated softly. "Everyone else was just mocking me or lying to me." 

His statement seemed to shock her. She slowly reached out her hand, her expression one of hopeful acceptance. "Is it okay if I put my hand on your shoulder?" 

He blinked in surprise. She was asking permission to touch him? Then he noticed how his body relaxed at being given the choice. After Thomas' rough handling, it was nice to be asked if he wanted to be touched. He nodded and she placed her hand on his undamaged shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Rimmer. I think it's about time you tell someone in authority exactly what's been happening to you."


	6. Remove Myself From All That Used To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All chapter titles are from Gravity Kills lyrics, because a lot of their songs inspired this story.
> 
> Chapter 6 warnings: forced prostitution, underage sex, non-consensual, rape, physical abuse, psychological trauma, explicit language
> 
> The outcome of Arnold's ordeals and how his life turned out.

The tall, lean man stood and buttoned his jacket before turning to face the twelve seated people. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. The defense wants you to believe that Nancy Rose Harrison was simply unaware that Mr. Nix was a mere fourteen years old, that Miss Jenson was merely thirteen…in fact, she wants you believe that she had no idea that all nine children found in her brothel, The Hanging Dog, were below the legal age of consent." He huffed in disbelief, then hardened his expression. "I stand before you an example of this simple truth: those who run brothels are always consciously aware of everything that happens in their establishments. Knowledge is their power. And if they wield all the power, where does that leave the kids?" He looked at each jury member in turn. "Vulnerable. Exposed. Intimidated. Desperate. Primed. With no work papers, no signed contracts and no age statements on file, we've proven these kids were living and being fucked–"

"You've been warned before, Mr. Rimmer. Prosecution will temper its language," called the judge. 

Arnold's entire body tensed and he felt the muscle in his jaw twitch in annoyance. "And as I have stated before, Your Honor, I will temper my language when children are no longer being fucked for money," he replied quietly. When no further objection came, Arnold continued, "We proved the underage children were working as prostitutes in Nancy Rose Harrison's brothel, The Hanging Dog, by evidence of the distributed pornographic vids clearly showing each child's face and the unique décor of The Hanging Dog. The question of this trial has been: how did the children end up at the brothel, working as prostitutes? Were they there of their own free will, or was something more ominous at play?" 

He paused and glanced down, pushing back the memories that always came up during these trials. When he was centered, he resumed with a booming voice, "Your fourteen- year-old son runs away from home one day. You ordered him to clean his room, or told him he couldn't go to a concert – you don't really remember, but you're sure he's safe. He has friends to stay with. Family he can turn to." He paused and added sadly, "But not all children have such luxuries." 

He adjusted his voice to a sinister tenor and continued, "Or maybe he's angry enough with you that he doesn't go to a friend's house. Maybe he decides to punish you by sleeping in the park or huddled in a doorway. Will he be beat up, mugged or outright raped right there in the street, too ashamed to return home? You don't have to worry though, as Ms. Harrison's handlers will be along to help your son pick up the pieces of his life. You see, their specialty is finding kids who have nowhere to go and offer them a place to stay. And in a month or less, your son will have some man's dick forced down his throat and he won't have a smegging clue why or what he did to deserve it." 

He paused again, gathering the strength to keep going. He gasped and held his hands to his mouth. "Your precious ten-year-old girl's gone missing from the playground? Best check the brothels, because she probably has her ankles up near her head as a man plows into her sweet, virgin little pussy." 

He curled his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking as he stared at Ms. Harrison and calmly stated, "Nancy Rose Harrison willfully, knowingly and I guarantee you, happily, took these kids in off the street, gave them food and shelter, made them feel safe, gave them a job washing up or sweeping the lobby…" He broke Ms. Harrison's hate-filled gaze and stared instead at the jury members. "Doesn't sound so bad, does it? Until the day these kids are led into a room, told to strip off their clothes and do whatever the strange man or woman says. If they protest or fight back, then they're subjected to physical intimidation or threats to throw them back out to the streets where they best hope the gangs don't find them before the police do. Fear, ladies and gentlemen, is the trade being sold. Fear is these kids' constant companion. Fear is the driving force of their lives."

He let the quiet settle before he slammed his hand flat on the desk, and every person within his range of vision jumped. "That is what people like Nancy Rose Harrison do to your sons and daughters. If they're not stealing them off of the street, they're misleading them into believing they'll be taken care of, that they're safe, that they care. After Ms. Harrison has earned their trust and confidence, the children are then forced into earning their "keep". That is how the underage children ended up at The Hanging Dog, brought there by Nancy Rose Harrison or someone under her orders."

He pulled himself together and finished with, "Ms. Harrison has been charged with the use of coercion or deception to force underage children to perform sexual acts, punishable by up to fifteen years in jail per conviction, plus restitution paid to the identified victims. She is also charged with illegally recording sexual acts inside a brothel, punishable by up to two years in jail per conviction, and distributing pornographic materials featuring underage children, punishable by up to seven years in jail per conviction."

Time was ticking by fast, but he paused to give weight to his next words. "You have one task, ladies and gentlemen, and that is to find Ms. Harrison guilty on all counts. While money will never restore what has been stolen from these nine children, it will hurt Ms. Harrison where she cares the most – her bank account. These children were nothing more than a means to an end to her, no better than stud horses sent out to service. By sending back a guilty verdict, you'll ensure that justice has been done for these children, and for society as a whole. Give these children the peace of mind they so desperately need, so they can begin to sleep through the night once again. Let us all sleep better at night, knowing that Ms. Harrison will never be able to hurt our children again."

He sat down before the judges could reprimand him for his candor and language again, or before his legs gave out. He took careful, controlled breaths to slow his hammering heart. He excelled at closing arguments, but they took everything out of him. 

At least with the raid eight months ago revealing the underage kids, The Hanging Dog was now closed and Harrison's prostitution license revoked. Now Arnold needed to see the woman punished for her crimes. She deserved to permanently lose her freedom, just as those kids had forever lost their childhood.

Sadly, she was just one of the dozens of brothel owners who skirted the law, but he could only go against those that he had solid evidence against. It sickened him just as much now as it had fifteen years ago when he'd been the victim of one. Even with more stringent laws, harsher punishments and more inspections today, bribes were still paid and evidence still vanished.

His assistant discreetly pushed a glass of water toward him. He reached for it, noticed the fine tremble in his hand and immediately changed direction to pick up a pen. 'Never show nerves in court' was one of the first lessons his law professors had taught him. The second was 'always pay attention until the courtroom is cleared', so he focused on the judge's instructions to the jury, making sure all the terminology was correct. One slip-up and a technicality could be called, dismissing the entire case. Finally, court was adjourned for the day. 

He never left the courthouse straight away – he tried to outlast the reporters and sensationalist journalists who always hung around near the end of the day. As the courtroom slowly emptied, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt that always seemed too tight, no matter the tailor he went to. He stared down at the tabletop, the scribbles on the notepad blurring before his eyes. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands, feeling the grit of too little sleep. 

He found it ironic that almost a dozen years after his first appearance in a courtroom, he was still plagued by restless nights. He'd been back to that courthouse in Tvashtar Catena several dozen times as a prosecutor. How small it looked now, compared to how huge and intimidating it had looked back then. Of course, everything looked different then. He'd had to learn to trust people after nearly twelve years of being tormented by schoolmates and adults alike. It was unconventional, but on Mother's Day, rather than remember his birth mother, he sent flowers to Doctor Y'drell, the first person who listened to him, believed him and encouraged him. 

His mind drifted back to the others who had helped him – Detective Lang and the victim advocate back at the police station the night that Anise had gotten him out of Madison's Heights brothel. He could only remember the advocate's first name – Jean – and that she'd explained to him that what he experienced amounted to rape. The minute he'd said, "No," control had been taken from him. That discussion, followed by the photographs, exam and vid recordings he'd had to submit to for evidence, caused him to break down uncontrollably and he'd been unable to give his full statement that night. 

He'd slept in the police station, the first night in months that he'd dropped off without crying himself to sleep. Detective Lang had sat with him the long next day as he recounted his life for the evidence vid: how Gregory, Hank and Alice had lied to him, the money Thomas paid for him, how he got to Tvashtar Catena, being kicked out of his house and school, his brothers' bullying, his father's obsession with the Space Corps, his professors, the bullies at school, his father's stretching rack, his mother's punishments… He talked until he was hoarse, and the detective believed him. Having adults who believed him, instead of Headmasters, professors and parents who dismissed him, turned out to make all the difference in the world. 

Since he didn't have any ID, he was fingerprinted and his photo run through the Ionian national database to confirm his identity and age. His school ID popped up, but no missing or abduction reports were filed. It didn't surprise him; he doubted his mother even cared if he was still alive. What did surprise him was that when Lang had asked if he wanted to press charges against the brothel, its owners and Thomas, the detective had included his parents in the list of people he could punish. 

He'd said yes without hesitation. 

The scandal of Arnold's life – a member of the upstanding Rimmer family – had rocked all of Io. Detective Lang, who had been his court appointed special advocate, tried his best to shield him from the stream of reporters and journalists who wanted the exclusive rights to his story. He was no longer overlooked or ignored – Arnold was thrust full-force into the spotlight and he hated every second of it. 

His new-found celebrity probably accounted for him winning the suit against Gregory for the full 30,000 dollarpounds that had been paid for him. Even though he had no license or work ID for prostitution, the judges declared that he had the physical proof of fulfilling the transaction and was owed the standard fifty percent, but due to the extenuating and unconventional circumstances of not being consulted on the terms of the transaction, the excessive duration of the transaction, and having been denied the right of refusal for performance of sexual acts, he was to receive the full amount charged for services rendered. His victory had been hailed as a progressive step forward in punishing unscrupulous brothel owners, but it didn't make him feel better. Taking that money away from Gregory hadn't made the betrayal or shame he'd felt go away. It hadn't even dulled the pain that throbbed in his shoulder throughout the entire civil trial. 

He'd wanted to charge Thomas with rape, but the prosecutor warned him that a charge of rape when Thomas had paid to have sex with him would probably end with a not guilty verdict or the case dismissed entirely. Faced with the possibility that Thomas wouldn't suffer at all, Arnold had relented and Thomas was charged with sexual assault, aggravated assault and battery. Thomas was found guilty of assault and battery, but got a suspended sentence and three years probation. The fine of 20,000 dollarpounds was more an insult than any sort of justice. Arnold was furious that Thomas got out of jail time, yet he felt a tightening in his chest as the news broke that Thomas had been fired from JMC. He wondered if he would always have confused feelings about Thomas, because while  
Thomas was a right bastard for what he'd done to him, he was still the man who'd given him his first kiss.

Despite the fact that Arnold was becoming rather a rich young man, he'd still felt hollow inside. Money couldn't fix what had happened to him emotionally, but the very first thing he'd bought with his award money was surgery to remove the scarring on his shoulder and correct the damage that Thomas had done. It had helped not seeing the marred skin in the mirror, but for years, it remained hard for him to meet his reflection's eyes. He still saw the dark circles, the teeth marks and the bruising, even though most of that had faded away to nothing before the criminal trials had even begun. 

As the months wore on and Arnold was forced to testify at each trial, he'd felt the numbness begin to overtake him again. He hadn't slept through the night since the police station, either woken by nightmares or unable to fall asleep at all. He had been moved constantly to try to stay a step ahead of the news hounds, which didn't help his sleeplessness. By the time his parents were brought to trial, he had been haggard, exhausted and thin as a rail. 

The prosecutor brought separate charges against his mother and father for a litany of child neglect, abuse and endangerment spanning most of his life. Informal charges were brought against Io House for the same, but it made them quietly go away by paying Arnold 62,000 dollarpounds, calling it a refund of tuition fees. He really hadn't cared if Io House was punished or not; it was the individuals, more than the school itself that had been the problem. His parents, however, had treated him like an unwanted stray animal. 

The anger he'd started to feel as Thomas' verdict was read grew as his father was sentenced to eighteen months in jail, suspended, and his mother thirteen months in jail, suspended. The court, citing their status as pillars of the community, ordered his parents to pay him restitution and maintenance totaling a quarter million dollarpounds. It was an unheard of sum for a child negligence case, but the judges wanted to make an example of them. Arnold had been beside himself with fury. Why did the court think he needed money? He needed to see justice done – he needed to know that his parents fully understood how they'd ruined his life and how it was their fault that he ended up at the brothel. 

John and Frank, then respectively a Commander and Lieutenant Commander in the Space Corps, shot disgusted and hate-filled looks at him throughout their parents' trials. Howard, a test pilot, merely kept his head bowed. Arnold had derived some small satisfaction that he'd ruined John and Frank's careers as an unintended consequence of their parents' trials. When John and Frank's bullying had come to light, they were stripped of their ranks and tossed out of the Space Corps. Arnold actually spoke at Howard's review in his brother's defense, stating that Howard had done nothing rather than participating in John and Frank's bullying, which allowed Howard to at least keep his job. 

Arnold also had the satisfaction of knowing that Madison's Heights was permanently shuttered and Gregory's prostitution license revoked. While Gregory, Alice and Hank were found guilty of the criminal charges brought against them, the punishments were hardly more than slaps on the wrist. Alice was sentenced to thirteen months in jail, suspended, while Hank got thirty-six months for accessory, twenty of those suspended. What burned Arnold something sick was that Gregory got nine years, four of those suspended, despite being the brothel owner and man who accepted payment for sex with an undocumented teenager. 

It was while Gregory was taken away in handcuffs for the last time that Arnold had realized what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to make sure people like Gregory were properly punished and would never be able to hurt another kid again. Detective Lang helped him find his way, guiding him to law and prosecution. It turned out that his mind wasn't geared toward the math of engineering or astro navigation, but rather excelled at retaining the minutiae of law precedents and obscure case facts. Tutors helped him revise so that he could take his exams again, this time passing by a healthy margin. Maybe it had only been a lack of confidence that had held him back, not that he was incapable of learning. 

He'd refused to give a statement to the press while the trials were going on, but once the final gavel was banged down and final sentencing was given, he found he did have something to say. He'd been so nervous in front of those dozens of recording devices, but his voice had been strong and clear as he read, "I had to write this down, because I wanted to make sure I didn't forget everything I wanted to say. I would give back every dollarpound I was awarded, if it meant that the people who hurt me would get the punishment they deserved. 

"Each person on trial hurt me in different ways, but if you add up everything they did, or didn't do, it amounts to a lost childhood. I'm almost seventeen years old, and I don't have a single happy memory from growing up. I was bullied, neglected and emotionally and mentally abused until I met Gregory Williams. Because of him and Thomas McGillis, my first sexual experience was one of pain, confusion and fear. Gregory Williams, Alice Faye, Hank Darby and Thomas McGillis took what was left of my trust and innocence and ground it to dust. 

"Something is terribly wrong with our legal system if people can arrange for someone to be auctioned off for sex and the most jail time any of them will do is five years. I stand before you, neither a man nor child but lost somewhere in between, with a determination to see that these laws are changed. The hollowed out feeling in my chest has slowly filled with indignation and rage as the months have dragged on. That anger is fueling my determination to go to law school, in order to affect change from within. I will see the laws changed to better protect innocent children. I will see punishments increased for those who endanger and abuse children. No child anywhere, ever, should have to live a life like mine." 

The much older Arnold wiped the stray tears from his cheeks as he remembered his first big speech. He was still surprised at how quickly he grew up during the trials. Not only was he able to give a speech in front of at least a hundred gathered people, knowing it was going to be recorded and broadcast on all of Jupiter's moons, and probably picked up by the intrastellar news outlets, but he'd met their eyes after folding the notepaper. Not one of those reporters looked at him with pity. Most faces shone with admiration and respect, something he'd never had directed at him until his horrible ordeal. In a twisted sort of way, he owed his parents, but most of all, Gregory and Thomas, for turning him into the man he was now. He might have drifted aimlessly through his life, continually being a screw up and having his parents bail him out, if he hadn't been forced to stand up for himself. He chuckled softly. That was something he'd never told any of his therapists – they'd have locked him up for sure. 

"Laughing in court? That's very unprofessional of you, Mr. Rimmer," teased a familiar female voice from behind him. 

He turned with a warm smile. "Laura," he greeted her, standing up to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I didn't know you were here." 

She patted his tie smooth and adjusted his lapels. "Just popped in on the way home to see if you were in deliberation yet. Want a lift?" 

"Just a tick," he promised with his palms pressed together and his best hangdog look. 

She rolled her eyes and patted his chest. "One," she held a finger up threateningly, though the smile teasing the corners of her mouth gave her away. 

She turned to leave and he called out quickly, "I love you," and she waved back at him in answer. He shook his head and marveled yet again at her ability to put up with his smeg. Nightmares, bouts of depression and insomnia were easier to deal with than the times when he couldn't stand to be touched – though they were happening less and less. Seven years of therapy had tried to convince him that everything that had happened to him wasn't his fault. Logically he knew that, but emotionally, it was much harder to believe. He'd had no self esteem or confidence growing up, and his trust had been betrayed and shattered. Laura, miraculously, had managed to get underneath all his negativity and found the place where he'd protected his heart, then stolen it. He owed her so much and he never failed to tell her so. 

It was their wedding anniversary in a month, and if his mood held, he wanted to take her back to Earth on holiday. They'd met there when he was studying Law at the University of Cambridge. It had taken her a long time to convince him that she was strong enough to handle his past, and that she wanted to be there for the rough times as well as the good. He still wasn’t sure why she loved him, but she did, and he wasn't going to make her wait a second longer. He made a last visual sweep of the floor around the desk to make sure no stray papers had fallen or were overlooked, then stepped out into the brisk Ionian air. 

He jogged over to the Bentley and slipped into the passenger seat, giving Laura a proper kiss more befitting a man who loves his wife.

"Mmm, what was that for?" she asked as she shifted into first gear and pulled out into traffic.

"For your patience, your kindness and your incredible legs," he recounted the old joke between them. "What about Thai tonight? I could whip us up some Pad Khee-Mao to go with that bottle of Chardonnay we've been saving."

She kept her eyes on the road, but there was an odd note in her voice as she demurred, "That sounds lovely, Arnold, but we'll have to skip the wine." 

"What for? You didn't suddenly become allergic," he teased, then his humorous mood vanished as he caught her expression. "Is everything all right?"

She glanced at him nervously, chewing on her lower lip. "Try to keep calm, please. I didn't plan this; you know I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't go behind your back on something you feel so strongly about." 

He felt strongly about a lot of things, but unless she'd started exploiting the children in their neighborhood, he thought he'd be able to handle whatever it was she was nervous about. "Just tell me. I am an adult, despite moments to the contrary." 

She darted a sidelong glance at him. "I'm pregnant, Arn." 

"What?" he sat up and did his deep breathing exercises to calm himself. "How?" 

Her grip tightened on the steering wheel and she shifted gears roughly. "The doctor said I was just over four weeks along. My best guess is the night you couldn't settle down, when I started massaging your neck to distract you…" her voice drifted off. 

He slumped back down in the seat again, his head reeling. One time. The one time they'd had sex without a condom, and he'd gotten her pregnant. He turned and looked out the side window, keeping his face from Laura. He didn't know what showed in his expression – he was terrified of having kids of his own. What if something happened to them? What if they were bullied like he'd been? What if they were kidnapped, or hurt, or…he took a deep breath, held it and released it slowly. 

"You still with me?" she asked quietly. 

"Yes," he rasped, feeling as though a very large moon had just crash-landed on his chest. 

"Say something?" she pleaded with him.

"I need to think," he stated absently. She knew how he was. She knew that he would run this in his head endlessly until he could grasp it, figure out how he felt and accept it…or at least, figure out what to say to her. 

Unfortunately, it took him another three weeks before he was able to work out how he felt, and it hadn't been his doing. He'd felt Laura pulling away from him in the interim, but he couldn't change how he was, no matter how much he wanted to. He would eventually figure it out, and she would forgive him like she always did. 

But when she'd slipped on a wet spot on the kitchen floor, he'd felt a fear like no other shock his system. She was laying on the floor, clutching at her abdomen, her face white. "Hurts, Arn–" she gasped out and closed her eyes. 

Spurred into action by seeing her in pain, he hit the communications button and called emergency services. He described what happened and followed the dispatcher's instructions on how to check if anything was broken and how to make Laura comfortable until the ambulance could get there. 

Laura clutched at his hand and stared up at him, the color slowly coming back to her cheeks. 

He stroked her hair with his free hand, smoothing it back from her forehead. "It will be fine, Laura. Nothing is going to happen to you or the baby. I won't let it." He brushed at the tears that slipped down her cheeks and shushed her. "It's going to be fine." 

He heard the wailing of the ambulance and something very tight in his chest started to loosen. He held Laura's hand in the ambulance and fretted outside the A&E as he waited to find out the condition of the baby. He refused to accept anything other than perfect health. 

He heard his name being called and turned around to face a woman in a lab coat. 

"Mr. Rimmer? I'm Doctor Smythe," said the woman pleasantly. "I'm your wife's ob/gyn."

"Yes, how is she?" he asked impatiently. "How's the baby?" 

"Both mother and baby are doing fine," the doctor assured him. "Laura bruised her hipbone during the fall, but thankfully, she landed on her side. The fetus was protected from the shock of the fall, though it did get a bit of jostling around. No blood, no leaking fluids – it looks like an incredibly lucky accident, all things considered."

Arnold slumped down into one of the chairs against the wall. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and covered the crown of his bowed head with his hands. He didn't want anyone to see the hot tears of relief he could feel burning his eyes. He'd been so terrified that Laura would lose their baby that he would have agreed to sell his house, leave his job and join a commune if only they would be all right.

"Are you okay, Mr. Rimmer?" the doctor asked quietly as she sat down beside him. "You do understand that Laura and the baby are doing well, don't you?"

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I understood that. It's just…" He sat up and tilted his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "Until Laura fell, I wasn't sure that I wanted to be a father. I had such a horrid childhood…" his voice trailed off and memories started to surface again. 

"I know about your childhood, Mr. Rimmer. I watched the news reports all those years ago," Doctor Smythe's low murmur dragged him out of the past. "I'm also a great admirer and supporter of your current work. May I be frank?" she asked bluntly, though continued without pause, "Knowing everything that I know about you, will you accept what I'm about to tell you as the sound advice and recommendation of a medical professional?" 

Arnold sent the doctor a tired glance, believing he knew what Smythe was going to say, but he couldn't have been more wrong. He expected the standard psychobabble smeg about how he shouldn't let his past taint his view of the world, that bad things happen to good people and just because bad things happen didn't mean he was being punished. He'd heard it countless times before, and it was smeg now just as it was smeg then. 

To his utter shock, the doctor looked him square in the eye and began, "You could have gone into seclusion after the trials were over. You could have lived a quiet life out of the public eye, your name and plight forgotten. It would have been easier. It would have been simpler. But you didn't, because you care passionately about protecting children. You hate seeing them hurt or abused in any form. So rather than hide from what happened to you, you dragged it kicking and screaming into the spotlight and turned it into a crusade to help other children like yourself." A small smile played at Doctor Smythe's lips as she declared softly, "If a man feels that much love and devotion for complete strangers, imagine how much love and devotion he would give to his own child."

He felt the heat of embarrassment on his cheeks, something he rarely felt nowadays. He'd heard variations on Doctor Smythe's words, of course, from countless organizations, hospitals and even parents of victims who wished to thank him. But he'd never felt them as deeply as he did right then. Maybe it was the doctor's forthright manner. Maybe it was the fright he'd undergone, first at finding out he was going to be a father, then the possibility that Laura would lose the baby.

The doctor's smile faded as she said, "My guess is that love, encouragement and confidence were what you were missing growing up. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you'll shower your child with all of that and more. Because of that, I know you'll make a great father." She paused, then continued, "I will give you this advice: don't buffer you child from the world. Prepare them for it by encouraging them to get out, to learn, to talk to people. Don't be afraid to punish them, but keep it moderate and in line with the act. Set limits and guides for their activities, but don't smother them, which I predict will be your first instinct. Show your child how much you love them, each and every day, and I can pretty much guarantee you they'll grow up normal, well-adjusted and happy. And if you're ever in doubt, defer to Laura." 

He stared, dumbfounded, at the unassuming doctor and felt his heart clutch in his chest. He felt tears sting his eyes, but these he didn't try to hide. These were tears of happiness –one of the very rare times he'd ever cried because of something good happening to him. The last time had been on his wedding day, when he'd seen Laura walking down the aisle toward him. "I-I don't know what to say," he stuttered, something else he hadn't done in years. "Thank you. You've no idea how scared I've been."

Doctor Smythe's pleasant smile returned. "I have a pretty good idea, Mr. Rimmer. I shouldn't tell you this, but Laura confided in me that she was worried about telling you about the pregnancy and what you'd say. When I realized who you were, her hesitation made much more sense, but I encouraged her to be honest with you." The doctor stood up and lightly touched his shoulder. "Laura was badly shaken by her fall, and she could use some encouragement right about now. I'm sure she'd love to hear that you're looking forward to being a daddy."

He stood up and eagerly asked, "I can see her, then?" 

The doctor began walking and he fell into step beside her. "You can take her home tonight if you wish. She'll be sore for a good week, possibly longer. I'll leave instructions with the discharge nurse, but mainly she needs to rest. Stay off her feet as much as possible until there's no pain when she stands. I'll schedule an appointment for her in a week, to check how the baby's doing." She paused outside one of the curtains and nodded toward it. "Go on, then. Don't keep her waiting." 

"Thank you," he gushed and reached out to clasp the doctor's hand. "From all three of us." He turned and parted the curtains, seeing Laura looking small on the narrow bed. 

As Laura looked up, she cried quietly, "Arnold," and covered her mouth with her hand. She'd been crying, more than he had from the looks of it, and he rushed to her side, clasping her hand warmly. 

"It's okay. The doctor told me you and the baby are both fine." He smoothed back her hair. "I couldn't be happier. I love you," he murmured as he kissed her. 

It started off as a gentle kiss, but quickly segued into one fueled by the love Arnold felt for the woman brave enough to love him. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm forever grateful," he whispered as he pulled back, feeling tears in his eyes. "And I cannot wait to see how beautiful our baby is. Your doctor seems to think I'll make a good father. I'm terrified that I'll screw it up, but I'll have you to help me." 

Laura looked up at him with huge, scared eyes. "You mean it?" she asked shakily. 

He felt his mouth curve up into an ever-expanding smile. "Every word," he promised. "Our baby will be loved. She will know every day how precious she is, because I'll make sure to tell her every day. She'll have friends and parties and a big tree house in the back yard."

Laura had tears shining in her eyes, but her smile had to be as big as his. He could sense Laura's hesitation before she questioned, "She?"

He frowned distractedly. "Did I say 'she'? I didn't realize. Girl or boy, it doesn't matter to me, as long as it's healthy." He leaned down to press another kiss to Laura's lips. "Our baby will be the most beautiful baby to ever grace this moon." 

Laura laughed and pulled him down to kiss him properly and thoroughly. 

The next time Arnold found himself in the A&E, it was for delivery day. Laura had been quiet and restless for days, then suddenly announced that they needed to go to hospital. Now Arnold looked at his new little family – his exhausted wife sleeping the heavily drugged sleep of post-labor, and the little bundle tightly-wrapped in the pink blanket Laura's mother had knitted for them. He ran his fingertip over his little girl's skull cap, around her button nose to her bow lips, and marveled that they'd created this little life. "Happy birth day, Nadia Valerie Rimmer," he whispered and placed a kiss on the top of her head, then set her back in her crib. He pressed a kiss to his sleeping wife's forehead, then settled down on the fold-out couch, falling into a dreamless sleep. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nadia means "Hope"  
> Valerie means "Strength"
> 
> I did a lot of research into Amsterdam's laws on prostitutes' rights and punishments for child abuse/neglect cases, though I adapted a lot of it for this story.


End file.
